Possessed
by LoveThemWinchesters
Summary: Sam's been away at Stanford for almost two years with no problems, supernaturally speaking, that is…that's until one night when Dean receives a panicked call from his brother. Dean is 25, Sam is 21, A/U (Rated M for language) (Disclaimer: I don't own Sam, Dean, or John Winchester. Kripke, Warner Bros, and CW do as usual.)
1. Chapter 1

**pos·sess** [p_uh_-**zes**]

**1.** to have as belonging to one; have as property; own

**2.** (of a spirit, especially an evil one) to occupy, dominate, or control (a person) from within

* * *

Dean's boots sank heavily into the muddy ground as he ran through the woods. Figures Mother friggin' Nature would pick today of all days to make it rain like there was no end. Branches snagged at his clothing, lashed out at his face; water mingled with blood and oozed down the side of his face. Where the hell was his father? They had split up earlier; John went south, Dean to the north, but the man never showed up. It was twenty minutes past their rendezvous time and the sun was well below the horizon.

He could hear the creature crashing through the trees on his heels. It was getting closer. The young hunter may have been in near perfect physical condition, but, damn, he could only run so fast.

As he ducked under a low-hanging branch, Dean risked a glance over his shoulder. That was a mistake. He went down…hard. "Fuck!" he yelped out in pain, his ankle twisted. Goddamned, mother f'ing, uneven forest floors. And yep, would you look at that. Coming out of the trees, just a few feet away, was the seven foot tall, green, brown, and yellow, fuglier-than-hell, honest-to-goodness swamp thing.

Dean had his Colt in his hand and took aim, pulling the trigger without so much as a thought. The bullet hit home and the thing let out a howl of pain, but it didn't go down like it should have. Moving much faster than Dean thought possible, the creature was on top of him, hand clamped around his neck, squeezing. The hunter squirmed in the thing's grasp, clawed at the grasping digits, but he wasn't having any luck freeing himself. Spots started to appear in Dean's vision and he could feel himself begin to slump in the tight grip. His gun fell from his hand as he continued his futile struggle, but he was too weak now to make any real progress. Shit. His dad was so gonna kick his ass, dead or alive.

When Dean came to, he was being dragged through the trees by his right foot, the same foot with the twisted ankle. He groaned. At least he wasn't dead…yet. His shirt and jacket were riding up high on his back; the rough ground was scraping his skin raw. He began to claw at the weeds and small saplings poking up from the soil, trying to gain some kind of hold to pull away from the creature's firm grip around his ankle. Everything he got a hold of came right out of the over-saturated ground.

Dean's hands were burning from all of the plants that had slipped through his palms, stripping away the skin. He knew he left a trail of plant destruction in their wake. No matter how much he grappled, nothing held, or if he did, the _thing_ had such a strong hold on him that Dean's grasp wasn't enough.

Soon they made it to the edge of a fairly large swamp somewhere out in the forest. _Oh, great_, Dean thought to himself. _No fucking way_. The Green Giant was heading right for it, only stopping once he reached the edge. The thing looked back at Dean, beady, black eyes narrowed at him.

"Dude, come on. You gotta be kidding me. Eau de Swamp doesn't work for me. And I don't do mud baths. My skin is smooth enough." Dean took advantage of the few seconds of non-movement to sit up and try to pry the thing's vise-like grip from his ankle which felt like it was swollen to ten times its normal size. His foot was another story; he couldn't feel it at all anymore. Even if he got up, Dean wasn't sure if he could make a run for it. But he'd damn well try.

He heard a low growl emanate from the creature's throat and looked up. Yeah, he'd shoot the beast again, empty the clip into it if he could, but his gun was long gone, lost back in the woods where the thing first attacked him. Dean glanced around, hoping he'd catch a glimpse of his father in the trees.

Dean swallowed his pride and yelled, "Dad!" That caught the creature's attention. He felt the grip around his ankle release, but Dean barely got a sigh of relief out when the cold, swampy fingers were back around his neck. He was lifted from the ground and the next thing he knew, he was thrown down into the frigid water. Dean was caught off-guard and choked on the god-awful liquid splashing over his face. "Son of a bitch!" Dean reached up and grabbed at the creature's chest, trying to catch hold of anything that would keep him from drowning in this foul-smelling water.

Mud filled his ears as the creature pushed and held him down. Dean took one last deep breath before he went under. He kicked out, but the effort was fruitless. Nothing seemed to hurt the being; nothing could sway it from its current task of killing Dean. The hunter fought, grasping at the slick, seaweed-like fingers, arm, anything, but this was it. Dean's body instinctively took a breath in, needing air, but instead of air, his lungs took in a gallon of swamp water.

Dean's last thought was of Sam. Sam's birthday was in a couple of days and Dean wasn't even going to be able to tell him Happy Birthday.

* * *

John cursed as he ran through the trees. Where he had thought there was only one of the swamp creatures, there had really been two out here. He surmised that they were a mated pair. The one he just took down had to have been the female of the two. She was much smaller than the one he and Dean originally came out here looking for.

Now he was behind schedule. He was supposed to meet up with Dean twenty minutes ago, but that bitch took more than just bullets to take down. Thank god he thought to bring a machete with him, something he knew Dean didn't have on him. After beheading the thing, it took even longer to get a fire going to burn her, what with the torrential downpour that had opened up for most of the day.

He approached the two misshapen trees he and Dean had agreed to meet at, but Dean was nowhere to be found. John studied the forest floor and could see Dean's size eleven boot prints. It looked like the man had been pacing as they overlapped each other countless times.

"Fuck," John mumbled when he saw another set of larger, non-human prints in the mud. He followed them down a barely noticeable trail. After maybe a tenth of mile, he caught sight of Dean's prints again. These were deeper; Dean had been running.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out through the air and John tensed, hand tightening on the long, sharp blade in his hand. He knew Dean's Colt like he knew his own sons' voices. It was up ahead somewhere. From the sound of it, Dean was at least a half mile away. There was no time to think or worry. John dug his heels in and ran.

By his estimate, it was closer to a mile away, but instead of finding Dean, John found the Colt lying on the ground, shining under the moonlight that was peeking through the clouds. "Dammit, Son." He tucked the pistol into his waistband as he eyed the ground at his feet. He could see there was a struggle and since Dean wasn't still here, it was obvious the creature had won this battle.

It took no time at all to find out which direction they went in; there were the tell-tale signs of someone being dragged over the ground and into the trees. John's jaw clenched as he followed the tracks, knowing Dean was probably fighting for his very life. The swamp beast they came out here to hunt was much bigger than the one John just killed. He knew there wasn't much time as he followed the trail.

No more than three hundred yards farther on, John broke out of the trees and came out on the edge of an overgrown swamp. Halfway around to the other side he saw the creature. John's eyes immediately went down to the ground to where its focus was. He could just barely see Dean's form fighting in the beast's grasp.

John wanted to yell out, get the creature's attention…save Dean, but stealth was all John had on his side. He cringed when he saw Dean's body continue to flail under the tight grip of the beast. And then Dean was being pushed under the water. The older Winchester knew in the back of his mind that he had maybe five minutes to save his son once he was under. He did his best to stay calm as he circled the murky water, heading straight toward the scene before him.

John stepped as quietly as he could from the trees, lips curled up in anger, eyes hard. A twig snapped underfoot and the creature spun just in time to block the deadly blade. It grabbed the hunter's wrist and threw him aside like a ragdoll. John landed on his shoulder with a grunt. He got up and attacked again, very aware of the fact that Dean was still under the water and he didn't have time to spare.

The seconds turned into minutes too quickly. The creature seemed to know John was trying to get to Dean; it stayed between father and son as it fought. "Goddammit, I don't have time for this shit," the hunter grumbled as he took a step one way, and then launched in the opposite direction at the last second. He was almost surprised that the creature fell for the move. Once more he swung the machete with everything he had. This time, it connected exactly where it was supposed to and the swamp thing's body fell lifeless to the ground beside Dean.

Dropping his weapon, John ran over to pull his too still son from the water. Dean was unconscious and wasn't breathing. The older hunter quickly checked for a pulse; it was there, but faint. He leaned over and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. After a several seemingly futile attempts at reviving the man, Dean jolted up, curling in on himself, coughing up muddy water from his lungs.

John let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and his shoulders slumped in relief. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. Yeah, these damn sons of bitches all had to die, but he hated when his sons' lives were put in jeopardy.

"Dean, y'okay, Son?" he asked after giving the man a minute to catch his breath. John was still kneeling next to Dean, wet and dirty palms resting on his thighs.

"Just peachy" came the raspy response. Dean lay back and rested his forearm over his face, taking deep refreshing breaths as the rain washed the mud from his clothes and skin.

"Good." John smiled, and then stood up. "I have to burn this thing and then we'll get going. It'll give you some time to get yourself together for the walk back to the truck.

* * *

Dean had the shower turned all the way to hot, but no matter what he did, it still couldn't wash the foulness of the swamp water from his system. He knew he'd be coughing for days trying to bring that shit up from his lungs.

He closed his eyes as he let the spray of water wash over him. Dean thought about what his father had told him on the way back to the motel. Come to find out, there had been two of the creatures out there. He was damn lucky John was able to get to him in time. There was nothing like dying in a nasty puddle of scum; Dean would rather take a bullet any day. He should've known something was up as soon as his dad didn't show up when he should have. John Winchester was _never_ late unless he had good reason.

Dean finished up with his shower, finally giving up after shampooing his hair several times and soaping up a couple of times. He was destined to have the smell of swamp in his nostrils forever. He got out and toweled off, slipping into a pair of sweats when he was dry enough.

He wiped the condensation off the mirror and looked at himself. Dark bruises were already forming around his neck from where the monster nearly choked him to death. Pressing his fingers gingerly to the marks, Dean grimaced. They were more than tender to the touch. His ankle was killing him, too. He would have to wrap a compression bandage around it and possibly get some ice to get the swelling to go down. Dean brushed his teeth (twice) before heading out of the bathroom.

The first aid kit and a bucket of ice were already sitting on his bed. His father might be a bastard most of the time, but he still cared for his sons. Dean opened the plastic box until he found what he needed to wrap his ankle.

John was sitting at the table making notes in his journal about today's hunt; there was a glass of amber liquid sitting next to him. He looked up when Dean flopped down on the bed. He didn't bother asking how his son was doing. John knew Dean well enough that even if he was hurting, the man wouldn't fess up to it. "There's beer in the fridge…Jack if you need something stronger."

"Thanks," Dean said somewhat tiredly as he clipped the small silver fastener on the bandage, and then reached over to put some ice in a towel.

After twenty minutes of icing his injury, Dean groaned and sat up, combing his fingers through his hair. He wanted to go to sleep, but it was only just after ten o'clock. That was still early in their book. "We got anything to eat?"

Without looking up, John replied, "Leftover pizza and Chinese."

Not exactly what Dean was looking for, but really, what was he expecting? It was better than Spaghetti O's or cold cereal. He stood up and stretched. His body was stiff from the beating he took today and he'd have to keep weight off his right ankle as much as he could, but things could have been much worse, so he wasn't complaining. Dean walked over to the kitchenette, trying to hide his limp the best he could from his father. He bit his lip trying to hide his grimace as he made the final steps to the fridge.

Dean took the first two things he saw: a carton of cold pork fried rice and a bottle of beer, and then found a fork in the drawer. He took a seat across from his father and dug in.

"So, Sam's birthday's in a couple of days," the younger hunter said, mouth full of rice.

John lifted his glass and took a large swallow, setting the glass back down a little harder than he probably should have. It was John's only answer to Dean's statement.

Sam was wrapping up his sophomore year at Stanford. Dean had tried to stay in touch as much as he could, but lately, it seemed like he and his little brother were drifting apart. The calls were becoming less and less and the ones that were made generally resulted in voicemails.

John still held a grudge against Sam for up and leaving like he did. Dean knew that, to some degree, it was pro7bably better for all of them. His brother and father could never see eye-to-eye on anything; that was just a given. The two couldn't be in the same room for more than five minutes without fighting. Sometimes Dean could just ignore the petty bickering, but other times, things escalated almost to the physical level, especially as Sam got older, and Dean had to step in between the two before punches were thrown. Dean once sported a black eye for a few days after trying to block a right hook from his brother meant for their dad. It would have been even less pretty if it had hit its intended mark.

But Dean knew why John was pissed. Actually, he wasn't so much as pissed off as he was worried. With Sam off at college, the elder Winchester couldn't keep an eye on his youngest son, make sure he was safe at all times. There were a few times in the last couple of years, when they had a job in California, that John would disappear for an extra day here and there. Dean knew where the man was; he was shadowing Sammy to make sure the kid was alright.

"Dad, come on. We're so close to him, we could stop in, say hi." They were just outside Truckee, California, some three and a half hours away from Sam. "It's his twenty-first birthday for Christ's sake. Can't you just put the crap aside for once?"

"Dean…" John looked up and his features were tight. The word was a warning.

Dean took a long pull from his beer and tugged at the corner of the green label. "Well, I'm gonna at least swing by. If something comes up between now and then, I can meet you wherever."

John closed his journal and sat back in the chair. He picked up his glass and drained it. He studied the tumbler before placing it back on the table, gently this time. "That's fine, Dean. I wasn't planning on going anywhere for a few days anyway. I wanted to take inventory on our supplies before heading back out. I'll be here when you get back." He got up and went over to his bed. "You better make sure you don't fuck that ankle up even more driving out there though. I can't have you hobbling around when we're on a job." John pulled his t-shirt up over his head, throwing it down on the foot of the bed. He scratched at his chest before turning the covers down and sliding under them. "Get some sleep. If you're gonna go to see your brother, you need to take care of your stuff tomorrow."

_Well, that didn't go over as bad as it could have_, Dean thought to himself. He got up and threw the cardboard container and bottle in the garbage and rinsed his fork off. It was going to be an early morning if he was going go through his weapons stash in the Impala. It had been too long since the last time he went through and checked everything. Guns needed to be cleaned and oiled, knives needed to be sharpened. He knew he needed more rock salt and holy water; there was no question there; they used them more than anything. Yeah, definitely a long day. It would be even longer with his dad looking over his shoulder the whole time.

* * *

Sam was heading back to his dorm after a day from hell. It was Friday. First he spilled coffee all over his notes, and then his sociology professor had sprung a pop quiz on them (one that he wasn't as prepared for as he thought he should have been). He managed to slip into the library for a few hour's peace after classes, but Jess had found him and pulled him off to yet another get-together, one he really would rather have not gone to. She said he needed to get out more. He supposed it was true, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

It was only eleven-thirty, but having been up since five that morning, Sam was dragging his feet. He had a few too many beers in him and not enough food. Jess stayed behind with some friends, saying she'd meet up with him tomorrow.

They were still living in separate dorms, but come next semester, he and his now steady girlfriend were moving in together. Sam was really looking forward to it; he really was. Last year, things were awkward, the whole getting settled in thing, being away from Dean for the first time in his life and all. This year was much easier, especially with Jess lifting his spirits on days he found himself down and missing his brother. It was good not being under the watchful eye of John Winchester though. The man was borderline freakish with his Marine attitude and orders.

Dean would most likely be calling him Sunday with his birthday and all and Sam was looking forward to hearing from the man. The last time Sam and his brother had actually talked to each other was back in January…Dean's birthday. Everything in between was either voicemail or text…maybe an e-mail or two. School was tough, kept Sam busy, and when it wasn't school, he was out with Jess, enjoying his _normal_. It felt good, too. Dean sort of got put on the proverbial back burner.

Sam got over the guilt of leaving Dean after the first few months away. The man was twenty-five years old (well, twenty-four when Sam left); he was old enough to choose his lot in life. If Dean wanted to keep hunting, well, that was his prerogative. Sam had things he wanted in life, like get a _normal_ job, get married, buy a house, and maybe even have a couple of kids. Hunting…yeah, not so much.

He was a block from his building when Sam got a chill; the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Instinctively, Sam spun and took in his surroundings. The path was lit, but he still couldn't see much. It had rained most of the day and it was one of those _dark_ nights.

Sam jumped when a shadow passed by to his left. "Who's there?" he called out into the darkness. There was no answer, of course. Years of training kept Sam calm, but he had to admit to himself that he was just a bit on the tipsy side, not as alert as he should be. He just had to make it back to his room; it wasn't far. There was a canister of salt just inside his door. He kept it there for those "just in case" times, like now.

Picking up the pace, Sam made a beeline straight for his dorm. It was starting to feel like it was a mile away instead of the half block that it was. He glanced over his shoulder again. Still nothing, but he could sense something there. A shadow passed by right in front of him then, making him stop in his tracks. "Shit," he mumbled under his breath. The last thing he wanted to do was have to call for help. Who the hell knew where Dean and his dad were these days anyway. They could be all the way in Maine for all he knew.

The shadow was getting a little more daring in its movements. It shot past Sam and nudged his left shoulder as it went by. Sam hissed as a bone-deep chill sank into his skin. "Screw this." He fumbled in his pocket for his phone. His left arm was starting to grow numb as the iciness slithered down from his shoulder. His hand trembled as he tried to hold the phone still while he dialed the number that was etched in his memory. Sam pressed the phone up to his ear, eyes watching the darkness as he waited for the familiar voice to answer.

"Sam?" Dean's sleep-laced voice filled the line. "I was supposed to call you; it's _your_ birthday, dude."

Sam was walking again, trying to make it back to the dorm. "Dean, where are you?" It was almost a whisper.

Dean sat up in his bed. He instantly knew something was wrong and his heart rate increased as anxiety kicked in. "Sam, what's going on?" He was wide awake now. Dean could see his dad shift in the darkness, but he hadn't woken up.

"There's something here. I'm almost back to my room, but whatever it is, it's following me."

"Shit, Sam. You have anything on you? A knife? Salt?"

"Dean, this is Stanford. I haven't carried a weapon in more than a year." Sam stopped talking. He could have sworn he saw the shadow again in his peripheral vision. His eyes widened when it appeared in front of him and came right at him. "Holy shit, Dean!" He jumped and dodged it, and then turned and ran. The door to his building was less than ten feet in front of him, but Sam knew once he got inside, he'd have to take the stairs up to the second floor.

Dean could hear his brother's heavy breathing as he ran. "Sam! Just get to your room and salt the doors and windows." He hoped his brother had salt. "I can be there in three hours. I just need you to get to your room. Can you do that?" Dean was out of bed searching for his clothes in the dark.

There was no answer. "Sam?" Dean yelled into the phone. The yell woke John up this time.

"I'm here, Dean. The thing, whatever it is, it just made a run right at me. I'm in my building right now, heading upstairs."

"Dean, what the hell's going on? Who are you on the phone with?" John reached over and turned the bedside lamp on. He was already pulling his shirt over his head.

"Sam, just get to your room, dammit!"

John was irritated that Dean wasn't answering him. "That's Sam? Dean, what the hell's going on?" He was already throwing his duffel onto the bed and was pulling a pair of jeans out.

"Something's after him, Dad," Dean answered his father in between talking to Sam. "Sam, were you able to see what it was? Wolf, spirit…black dog?"

"It's a black shadow. I don't know…maybe a spirit? It fucking touched me a little while ago and I can't feel my damn hand right now. It's like it's frozen or something." Sam was in the corridor to his room now, trying to hold onto the phone as he got his keys out of his pocket. The hairs on his neck started to tingle again. Dammit. He moved quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when he got his door open and pushed through it, closing it tightly behind him. Sam grabbed the container of salt and quickly poured a line across the threshold. "I'm in, Dean. I've salted the door and I'm gonna take care of the windows. I'll call you back."

The line disconnected. Dean looked at the silent phone in his hand. He hadn't heard from Sam in months…and now this?

"Dad, we gotta leave…now!" Dean had somehow managed to get dressed while on the phone with his brother. He went into the bathroom and gathered his things as quickly as he could, pulled his bowie knife out from under his pillow and stashed it in his duffel. After, he retrieved his gun from the nightstand drawer and tucked it into his waistband and grabbed his keys from the table.

While getting his things together, Dean told John what Sam told him about the being. It wasn't much to go on, but their father would probably figure out what it was before they made it to Stanford.

John was already at the door waiting for him when Dean pulled his jacket on. "I'll take my truck. You go ahead in the car."

* * *

Sam sat down on the edge of his bed when he was done salting every entrance to his dorm. He wasn't so much scared as he was concerned. The salt would keep him safe; he knew that much, but he wanted to know why this thing had all of a sudden decided to take a liking to him. As far as he knew, he hadn't acquired anything new that a spirit could be latched onto. He certainly hadn't done anything that would call up an entity.

His phone rang, causing him to jump. He picked it up from the table and looked at the caller I.D.; it was Dean. Sam answered it, mentally berating himself for forgetting to call the man back.

"Sam, you okay? You didn't call back."

Sam could hear the familiar rumble of the Impala and the quiet music of what sounded like Led Zeppelin in the background. Dean was on his way. "Yeah, I'm good. It just caught me off guard, you know. It's been a while."

"You're out of practice, dude." Dean chuckled with relief. "I should make you come out one weekend a month to keep you in shape."

Sam ignored Dean's valiant attempt at tricking him into going hunting again. "So you said three hours. Where are you?" He toed his shoes off and went to the kitchen to grab a soda.

"Me and dad were just outside of Tahoe National Forest, up near Truckee. We were hunting some slimy swamp critter and his better half. Your ass is lucky we're so close."

"Hey, I coulda figured this out without you, you know."

"Sure Sammy. I would've never guessed that when you called screamin' like a girl, bitch." Dean grinned into the phone.

Sam smiled at the old endearment. "Jerk." He cracked open the can of soda and took a long drink. He noticed his hand was warming up again and the numbness was going away. "Hey, I can feel my hand again."

"Well, that's good to hear. You're not permanently damaged, at least physically." Dean chuckled and glanced up in the rearview mirror. He saw the headlights of his father's truck not too far behind him. "So you think you can hang in there until Dad and I get there?"

"Shit, Dean, Dad's coming, too?"

"Sure is. You can't expect him to just sit by when something's after you now, can you? It'll be alright. Just keep your trap shut."

"Yeah, okay, Dean." Sam closed his eyes at the thought of seeing his father again.

They talked for a few more minutes, and then hung up. Sam felt safe enough to work on getting some dinner together. He was starved, having only eaten a handful of chips at the party, and before that, just a ham and cheese sandwich for lunch. At 6'4", Sam needed more than a few hundred calories in a day to keep him on his feet.

He pocketed his phone and went to the kitchen to turn the oven on. Sam would have to make do with a frozen pizza tonight.

Sam didn't see the entity hidden in the shadows of his room. It had been able to sneak in through the door behind Sam, before the salt line was put down. The young man didn't know what hit him when the being darted out of the darkness and merged into him. Sam only felt a deep coldness take over his body before he fell to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

It was close to three o'clock in the morning when Dean pulled the Impala up outside of Sam's building. He knew which window was his brother's and looked up to see that the lights were still on. The kid must have waited up for them. His brother better damned well be okay up there. It chilled Dean to know something could possibly be after his little brother.

"And let the games begin," Dean mumbled as he shifted the car into park, shut the engine off, and pulled the keys from the ignition. He leaned over and retrieved his Colt from the glove box, never going anywhere without it. As he opened the door and got out of the car, he hid the weapon in the inner pocket of his jacket. Dean opened the back door and grabbed a small duffel that held his essentials…holy water, salt, shotgun, silver knife, extra rounds, things of that nature.

His dad was still at the truck putting some things together into a duffel of his own. Both men had their specific tools of the trade. There hadn't been time to pack when they hurried onto the road from Truckee. Neither could be sure about what they were going to run into once they got upstairs.

"So, Dad, what do you think? Any ideas?" Dean asked as he hefted his bag onto his shoulder and walked over to the truck. He glanced up to Sam's window, but didn't see any movement. His brother was more than likely dozing on the couch. It _was_ pretty late.

John zipped his bag closed and shut the tailgate to his truck, locking away his stash of weapons. "I don't have a lot to go on, Dean. It could be a spirit, elemental – something like an imp, puck, or pixie – or a shadow cat or dog. Those are just a few things. Who the hell knows? Demons are the only other thing that would even come close. We need to be ready for anything." (John didn't even want to think about it being a demon. Shit.) "Hell, these colleges are just one big overpriced frat party. And it's Friday night. Your brother may have had one too many and could have just imagined something was after him."

Dean ignored his father's last comment. He wouldn't say anything, but Sam _did _sound like he might have been a few sheets to the wind when he spoke to him earlier, but one word his dad had said stood out like his brother in a crowd of midgets. "Demon? Like what killed Mom? I thought they weren't that common." After all the years hunting with his father, they had never encountered one that he could recall.

"Unfortunately, I've heard they've been lurking around a lot more lately. Just last week, Bobby Singer and Pastor Jim took one down in Nebraska, sent the thing back to hell where it belongs. But yeah, I wouldn't worry too much about that. If anything, my best guess is a spirit. They're a dime a dozen."

"Yeah, okay." Dean had no reason to question his father. "Let's just get up there and talk to Sam." The younger Winchester turned and walked across the street to Sam's building. He could hear his father at his heels.

The main entrance had one of those new combination-style locks; both men knew the code. It was just one of those things; passwords and combinations weren't kept secret between the Winchesters. Knowing them could mean the difference between life and death. Dean quickly punched the number in and turned the handle once he heard the lock release. He kept his hand inside his jacket and fingered his gun, ready to use it if needed.

Both men were quiet and at attention as they went up the stairs. The stairwell was well lit; there was hardly a shadow anywhere. It looked clear. When they got to the top of the flight, John took point. He looked back at Dean and he signaled for his son to remain quiet. Dean nodded.

John turned the knob and pushed the door open. The long corridor beyond was empty except for a trash barrel at each end. The building was old, but the interior was fairly new, up to Stanford's standards. The owners kept with the industrial look. The walls were brick and the silver ductwork was exposed up in the open ceiling above. The hallway floor was a dark, multi-colored tile, mostly in neutral earth tones. It was a pretty nice place. Dean had been here before, but this was John's first time. But even so, he knew Sam's dorm was the third door on the right, second from the far end. He started walking toward it and Dean followed closed behind.

When they got to Sam's door, they found that it wasn't completely closed. Dean took a breath as he eyed the unclosed entryway and quickly pressed his back to the wall, drawing his gun. John mirrored him on the other side of the door. They looked at each other and Dean nodded, knowing his father would insist on going through first.

John slowly reached over and pushed the door open. There were the remains of a salt line at the threshold, but that's all there was. The line had been broken. The elder hunter let his eyes take in the scene.

The dorm was smaller than most of the motels they called home on a regular basis. More or less, it was one large room with a kitchen area off to the right, a sitting area, and a sleeping area just beyond that. Off to the side of Sam's bed was a desk in front of a window with Sam's laptop and a stack of books sitting on it. A door was off to the left which was more than likely the bathroom. It wasn't much, but John was happy to see Sam looked like he was doing okay for himself. Nothing looked amiss except for the fact that he didn't see Sam. "Stay here," he whispered to Dean as he stepped through the door.

Dean jumped a couple of minutes later when he heard the gruff voice of his father call his name. Giving one last look down the hall, he turned and entered the room.

"He's gone." John was standing in the kitchen, his expression grim. "Fuck!" he yelled, slamming an open palm on the small kitchen table, not caring who he might wake up.

"Dad, maybe he just went to see Jess or something. He might have been worried about her. He was pretty scared on the phone." As Dean said it, he knew Sam would never do that, not when there was a chance something was after him. And his dad called him on it.

"Don't lie to yourself, Dean. You know that's not what's going on. Sam would know to stay put." John's mouth was pinched in a tight line. He was going to find the son of a bitch who had his son. "His stove was on, too, and," he gestured to the frozen pizza still sitting on the counter, "that was left out. Looks like he wasn't planning on going anywhere."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Have you tried calling him?" He reached into his pocket, pulling his cell phone out.

"No, not yet."

Dean was already dialing before his father answered the question. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited. Several rings later, Sam's voice came on the line… "Hi, this is Sam. Leave a message."

"Dude, where are you? Dad and I are at your dorm. Call me as soon as you get this." Dean hung up. He wasn't really expecting an answer. Sam would never leave his door open like that. It pissed him off knowing that some _thing_ probably had his brother out there. Sam was a tough kid, but he was out of practice…and unarmed. "Shit, Dad. He's out there somewhere."

"We'll find him, Son." John was poking through some of Sam's things, looking for some clue as to what may have taken his youngest.

Dean leafed through the mail that was sitting on a small table next to the couch. It was nothing more than junk. He looked up at his dad. "I'm gonna check with the others in the building, see if they saw or heard anything."

"Yeah, okay. I'm going to look around here a little more to see if I can find anything. If I'm not here when you get back, I'll be outside checking things out."

Dean was barely out in the hall when he heard his dad call out to be careful. Sure. He wasn't the one who had to watch it. It was whatever took Sammy that was going to have to watch its sorry ass. A few steps down the hall, Dean pounded on the first door he came to. "Hey, in there, open up!"

* * *

When Sam woke up, he found that he wasn't in his bed. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even in his dorm. What the hell? It looked like he was in one of those storage units people rented when they couldn't figure out how to dump all those material possessions that seemed to collect over the years. Three walls were half concrete and half sheetrock and the wall in front of him had one of those rollaway doors.

His nose crinkled at a familiar smell. He sniffed the air. Blood. That's what it was. He looked down at himself and saw that his hands, arms, and portions of his clothing were covered in thick, sticky crimson. His eyes widened and he stood up quickly from the cold concrete floor. "Jesus Christ!" What the fuck was going on? Sam mentally inventoried his body. Nothing felt wrong. It wasn't his blood. The last thing he remembered was turning on the stove to make a pizza.

He looked around the room, checked out his options. The space was empty of anything but himself. There was no way out except for the rolling door. Sam walked over to it and bent low to grasp the handle. It wasn't a surprise that it didn't budge. He looked up at the pulley mechanism over his head and sighed. The ceiling was roughly eight feet high. There was no way he could reach it.

Sam resorted to pounding on the door and calling for help.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Dean found himself banging the door to the last dorm. It was the twelfth dorm in the building. A young man with spiky, blond hair answered it.

"Dude, what's up with all the racket? The building better be on fire." He yawned and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He frowned when he looked up at Dean. The man in front of him was intimidating, standing several inches taller than himself with broad shoulders and a hard look on his face. "Who are you?" he asked as he took a cautious step back, keeping his hand on the door.

"Do you know Sam Winchester?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Saw him earlier when I got home. He was heading out." The man combed his fingers through his rumpled hair. "He okay?" He looked over Dean's shoulder, out into the hall.

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Did he say where he was going?"

"Wait a minute. Hold on. Who are you and why should I tell you anything?" He got over his initial intimidation and stared hard at the man in front of him. Sam was a couple years younger than him and was a good kid. He wasn't going to just go directing any harm his way.

Dean would have laughed if the situation wasn't so pressing. The guy was in baby blue silk boxers and was half his size, hardly a threat. "I'm his brother, Dean. And he's gone missing."

The man looked Dean over one more time, deciding on whether or not he believed him. Something about the man seemed honest though. "Oh, well, alright then. He did mention you a few times. I'm Phil." He scratched at his bare chest. "Have you checked with his girlfriend? Those two are attached at the hip. Siamese twin-like."

"Jessica? I would, but I don't know where she lives and I don't have her number."

"Come on in." Phil turned and headed into his dorm, expecting Dean to follow. "Just give me a second. I'll get it for you."

Dean walked a couple feet into the room and waited. The place was pretty much like Sam's, although Phil had more of a modern taste in furnishings. Where Sam probably scavenged much of what he had, this guy looked like he had some money. Most of the furniture appeared to be new and he had some high-tech electronics covering shelves along one wall. "Did he say anything to you when you saw him?"

Phil was in his kitchen thumbing through the contact list on his phone. "No. He seemed a bit pre-occupied. I said hi, but he just shouldered past me without saying a word. Ah, here it is." He started writing Jessica's address and phone number on a sticky note for Dean. "But yeah, I thought it was pretty weird. He's a real talker. Don't take offense, but sometimes you just can't get him to turn off." Phil smiled.

"Yep, that's my brother alright." A quick smile flashed on Dean's face as he took the small yellow piece of paper from the man and looked at it. "Well, I appreciate your help." He turned to leave.

"Sure. I hope you find him. He's a good guy…helped a few of us when we needed it. Let me know if you need any help. I can get a few people together in the morning if needed."

Dean was already half into the hallway. He looked at Phil and saw the sincerity in his blue eyes. Sam appeared to have made a few good friends here. "Thanks," he said as he walked off. He dialed Jessica's number as he headed back up the stairs to Sam's place.

The phone rang and a sleepy voice answered. "Hello?"

Dean didn't want to alarm the girl, so he decided to keep the details to a minimum. "Is this Jessica Moore?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"It's Dean Winchester, Sam's brother."

"Oh, hey, Dean. So you are real! I was starting to think that maybe Sam had made you up."

Dean grimaced. Maybe he should have tried to be more involved with Sam over the last couple of years. "Look, sorry to bother you this late, but have you heard from Sam?"

"Well, we were at a party earlier, but he decided to leave early. They're just not his thing, you know? He said he was going home. We were going to meet up later today."

"So you haven't heard from him since he left?" Another damn dead end.

"No. Why are you asking me all of this? Is he alright?" She was starting to sound nervous.

"I don't know. I'll have to get back to you on that. But if he calls, please tell him to call me."

"Um, no problem. If I hear anything, I'll call you. Your number's on my caller I.D." There was a pause before she continued, "You'll let me know if he's not okay? Please. If something's happened to him…" She broke off and Dean could hear her voice crack.

"Hey, don't worry yet. My dad and I are on it. I'm sure he's fine." Dean hated lying to the girl, but what was he going to do? "One of us will call you, probably Sammy and I'm sure he'll explain everything to you. Thanks for your help."

They said their goodbyes and by then Dean was back at Sam's dorm.

* * *

Sam's hands hurt from banging on the metal door. There was no answer. Really, who hung out in a storage facility during the wee hours of the morning? He looked at his watch. It was almost four in the morning. He had somehow lost almost four hours. And whose blood was on him? That concerned him more than anything, aside from the big gap in his memory.

Suddenly, Sam heard shuffling on the other side of the door. He backed away from it not knowing who or what it could be. An electronic buzzer signaled that the door was going to open and then the pulleys started spinning. The door lifted and Sam saw two pairs of feet, then legs as more of his captors were revealed.

He decided to make a run for it before the door was all the way up. Whoever the two men were, it was like running into a concrete wall. Neither budged and his arms were caught in vise-like grips. Sam was thrown down onto his back, his breath knocked momentarily from him.

Sam groaned as he lay there and looked up at the men as they approached and stood over him. One was big and burly, biker-like. Tattoos covered his arms and he was dressed in work boots, black jeans, and a t-shirt showing the logo of some local bar, Sam assumed. His dark hair was cropped short and his face was covered in several days' worth of stubble. The other wasn't near as big. He had wavy red hair and freckles and was of a lanky build, more like Sam, but maybe just shy of six feet. He was dressed in jeans and a button down shirt, your typical college-type. The only thing the two had in common was their eyes; they were shiny pools of black. It was nothing Sam had ever seen before. What the hell were they?

"So, Samuel Winchester…," biker guy started with a knowing smile. "Are you ready for another romp in the park? We certainly had some fun earlier." The man eyed Sam's blood-stained hands and clothing.

"Whatever you are, you are so dead. When my father and brother find you-" Sam cried out and curled into a protective ball as the big man kicked him hard in the ribs.

"No one's gonna find you." He leered at Sam. "You're ours until we decide otherwise. And you're gonna do whatever we want you to do until then." Both men looked at each other and laughed. "It don't seem like you know what we are and I think it's better we keep it that way."

Sam pushed back and tried to scoot up against one of the walls. He felt his cell phone dig into his leg. How could he be so dumb? As soon as he was alone again, he'd make a call to either Dean or his dad.

Sam's mouth fell open in shock and he hugged the wall tighter as the lanky man's head fell back and a thick cloud of black smoke poured out of his mouth and into the air. The body dropped to the floor next to Sam. The man wasn't dead; he could see that he was still breathing. But Sam's gaze returned to the _thing_ floating near the ceiling. Biker dude was still smiling, un-phased by what was going on. Sam glanced back down as the young man started to move and opened his eyes.

The smoke highly resembled the shadow Sam had seen earlier when he was returning to his dorm. Whatever these things were, they had somehow knocked him out and kidnapped him. He had to admit to himself, he was scared. He didn't want that thing in him and Sam did all he could; he made another dash for the open door.

He didn't quite make it as the smoke shifted quickly and made its way right toward him. Sam screamed as it invaded his mouth, his lungs…his body. He knew no more after that.

* * *

Dean opened the fridge to see if there was anything to eat. He was getting hungry. Finding a plate of cold fried chicken from a local fast food joint, he took it out and sniffed it, lifting an eyebrow. It seemed okay, so he grabbed a beer, too, and brought it over to the table. He sat down and began to dig in. A hunter had to eat after all. Dean knew that more than most. He'd be of no help to Sam if he was too light-headed from lack of food.

He had just finished giving his dad the info he got from Phil and Jessica. It wasn't much, but it was enough for them to assume something had gotten to Sam, or rather _into_ Sam. John was positive Sam had been possessed by a spirit from what Phil had told Dean.

"So what's our next course of action?" Dean asked, chewing on a piece of chicken. He swallowed it and took a swig of beer.

John was pacing the living room area. He was deep in thought. "We're going to have to wait."

"What? You mean we're just gonna sit here-"

"Dean, we have nothing to go on right now." He looked over at his son. Dean looked more than worn down; dark circles were under his eyes and his normally vibrant eyes were dull. "When you're done with that, you need to get some rest. That swamp thing took a lot out of you. I'll keep an eye on things. We'll figure something out in the morning."

Dean couldn't argue. He was exhausted, having not had any real sleep yet, especially after yesterday's hunt and his ankle was still killing him; his body ached all over. "Yes, sir." He ate the rest of his cold food in silence.

Ten minutes later, Dean cleaned up from his meal and shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, draping it over the back of the couch, but not before taking his gun out. He snagged one of Sam's pillows from the bed and dropped down onto the couch. (He would feel too guilty getting comfy in Sam's bed while his brother was who knows where.) Before he lay down, Dean placed his Colt under the pillow; he felt safer with it there. Only then did he swing his legs up to get comfortable, propping his right foot up on the arm of the couch, finally closing his eyes.

"Wake me if anything comes up," he said to his dad as he dropped off.

* * *

Sam saw brief flashes of things, almost as if the entity was allowing him to see. It wasn't pretty either. What he saw made him wish the thing would have just kept him in the dark.

More blood. It was warm this time. And the body it belonged to was beneath him, struggling, as he straddled it. _No!_ he screamed out in his mind. But no words came from his mouth. He had no control of his body as the thing continued to torture the man under him. The poor person cried out, but because his teeth were all broken, as well as probably every other bone in his face, he could no longer form words.

_"Please, stop."_ Sam begged.

_"What, you don't like this? But it's so much fun. Just wait until you see the things we can do together."_ The creature sneered, twisting Sam's normally handsome face into something evil. He pulled a sharp blade out from somewhere and held it up to the man's neck. _"What do you think? He'd sure look pretty with a cut right here."_ The knife traced along the man's neck, leaving a fine line of red in its wake. The man whimpered.

_"Leave him alone. I'll…I'll do anything you want. Just don't kill him."_

_"Oh, you have no leverage, Sam. You're already going to do anything I want."_ He chuckled.

With a sudden movement, the blade flashed and blood spurted out onto Sam's hands. Sam cried out. _Oh, God, no… _How many people had this being killed while in control of his body? _I'm so sorry, _Sam said to the now still man beneath him.

_"Oh, get over it, Sam. This is nothing."_ He stood up. _"This is just a test drive. I'm deciding on whether or not I'm going to keep you for an extended period of time. Maybe we'll go check on your family soon."_

_"No! You stay away from them!"_

_"You know what? I'm tired of your whining. Go take a nap."_

And like that, Sam was shoved back down again. He was in the dark prison of his mind with no clue what this thing was using him for.

* * *

Dean woke to a gentle shake of his shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw his father standing over him. His dad looked disturbed. "What?" Dean asked as he quickly sat up. "Is it Sammy?"

Sam's small thirteen inch TV was on and Dean saw a reporter talking. Behind her, there were several police cars and what appeared to be a crime scene unit scouring the area. "Dad?" He looked up at the man.

"I don't know, Son, but we need to get there. It's not too far from here."

Dean tugged his boots on and pulled his jacket off the back of the couch. He grabbed his gun and was ready to go. John handed him a coffee from somewhere.

"Did you sleep at all?" Dean inquired of the man as he took a sip of the dark, scalding beverage.

John ignored Dean's question. His more immediate concern was getting to the crime scene before the authorities cleaned it up. "Let's go, Dean. There won't be much time before they move the body and disturb the evidence." He opened the door and headed out into the hallway. "We'll take the Impala. I'll drive."

* * *

John pulled up near the crime scene. "Stay here while I check this out. I want you to rest up that ankle. I can see it's still bothering you." He got out of the car before Dean could protest and was gone.

Dean watched as John approached an officer and flashed a badge. Without question, the man lifted the yellow caution tape and let him through. Dean slouched down in the seat and waited. It would be a little while before his dad got back.

He looked around at the curious onlookers. The murder had stirred up quite a few of the locals, even at this early hour. Dean's gaze narrowed in on a man in the crowd. He thought he saw a smile pass over the guy's face. _Now that wasn't normal_, Dean thought. He was just about ready to get out of the car when the driver's side door opened and his dad got back in. "Dad, there's someone-" When he looked back at the crowd, the man was gone. "Shit," he muttered.

"What is it?"

"There was someone in the crowd." Dean continued to comb the onlookers with his eyes, but couldn't find the man again. "He's gone now, but he looked more than a little suspicious. He was smiling."

At that, John ducked his head so he could see out the passenger window, too.

"He's gone, Dad." The younger Winchester looked back over to his father. "So what'd you find out there?"

"They don't have much. It was a young man, early twenties. He was beaten, and then had his throat slashed. There wasn't much there for evidence…no security cameras, no witnesses. He was found by a jogger this morning."

"Well, that sorta sucks for him. Any reason to think this involves Sam?"

John was silent for a while. This was the M.O. of the demon Bobby and Jim recently took down. If Sam was taken by a demon… He closed his eyes. _Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry._ His youngest son, possessed by a demon and forced to kill. This was his worst nightmare.

"Dad?"

John was jolted from his internal thoughts. "Sorry, Dean. Tired, you know." He rubbed his face and looked out the window to the scene in front of them. Not wanting to scare Dean, he lied. "I don't know yet. It's hard to say."

"Let's grab a bite to eat and get you back to the dorm for some sleep. I'll do some research and see if I can find anything. I ought to be able to get into Sam's laptop."

"Yeah. That sounds like a good plan," John said tiredly.

* * *

Sam came to. He was lying on his back in the storage unit and he was alone again. His mind was stressed, but well-rested. His body, on the other hand, felt as if it was running on empty.

_Murder_. The word stuck in his mind. Someone's death was on his hands and Sam couldn't get that out of his head. He had killed someone. "You fuckers!" Sam yelled out into the silence.

He was by no means innocent. He'd killed many things – creatures, beasts, you name it – but he'd never killed a person. No matter how evil a person was, hunters didn't kill people. But he had now done just that. From what he surmised, he had killed at least two people. Sam started shaking. Yeah, California no longer had the death penalty, but the idea of spending life in prison scared him. But what it kept coming back to was that someone had died at his hands. Maybe he deserved life.

Sam backed up into the corner and bent his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his head on his knees. He tried to get his breathing under control, his heart rate, too. Sam had to calm himself down. He had to last this out until his family found him.

There was a sound from outside the door and Sam lifted his head. He groaned. Not again. The buzzer went off and the door lifted. There was just one man there this time: "Big & Burly" as Sam called him in his mind.

"How'd you sleep? Ready for another run?" the man asked as he came into the unit and stopped just mere feet in front of Sam.

Sam didn't give the man the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

"Oh, you're gonna be defiant now, are you?" Big & Burly landed an open palm against the side of Sam's head, snapping the hunter's head back. "Look at me when I talk to you, you little shit!" When the young man didn't obey, he reached down and lifted Sam by his collar, slamming him against the wall. "I will kill you. You're expendable. Don't think you're not," he growled.

"I'd rather die than be your damn puppet," Sam spat at the man.

The man's eyes went dark; the inky black returned. He grasped Sam's hair and pulled his head back, exposing the smooth expanse of his throat. The point of a knife suddenly pricked at Sam's skin and he swallowed. "Do it," Sam dared him.

"Oh, no. That would be too easy." Instead, the man moved the knife lower to Sam's abdomen, tucking it up under his shirt. He pressed the tip in until Sam's eyes widened and he gasped. "Feels good, don't it?" He slowly dragged the knife along, cutting a bloody line into Sam's side.

"Guh…" Sam cried out. He couldn't move. The man had him pinned to the wall with more than just his body. There was some power there, pressing him back. His arms were stuck to the wall as well as his legs. He watched as the man brought the knife back up and licked the blood from it. Sam cringed.

"Mmm… You taste good. Maybe I'll make a habit out of this." Big & Burly eyed the young Winchester.

Sam remained glued to the wall. He struggled futilely, but there was no give. "Screw you!"

The creature smiled at Sam's insolence. With a thought, he snapped Sam's head back into the wall with a satisfying _crack_. The hunter went silent and slumped in the demonic hold. "Maybe later." He turned and left the room. Sam dropped to the floor behind him.

There were big plans for Sam Winchester. The Winchesters were a bane to the supernatural and they were too well-respected by the hunter community. If they could take down a few hunters with this meatsuit, maybe they could taint that feared name, knock it down a few pegs…maybe even erase it from this world before it did more damage.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Sam was conscious, he found himself on the floor in the back of a van with a very bad headache, possibly from a concussion. It was dark outside telling him that almost a whole day had gone by, at least that's what he figured it was, but it could have been longer. There was no way to know for sure, not with the intermittent possessions. His hands were tightly cuffed behind him and his ankles were bound as well. It could have been worse he supposed; he could have been blindfolded and gagged as well…or hell, dead.

For a few minutes, he struggled (wishing greatly that he was more flexible), but he finally managed on slipping his bound hands around his feet and got them in front of him. It was no small feat, not for a guy almost six and a half feet tall. He fumbled around with his pocket and sighed a breath of relief to find his cell phone still there. He only prayed that it still had a charge.

Sam glanced over his shoulder and saw that there was only one of _them_ in the van. He wondered briefly where the other was, but he wasn't going to complain. One was better than two. Big & Burly was driving and he had the window down. Sam hoped the rush of air would be enough to keep the guy from hearing him as he made the call. It was risky, but he had to try.

He quickly turned his phone on. The battery indicator was showing it to be at fifty percent. That wasn't as bad as Sam thought it would be. It should be enough for his father and Dean to be able to track him. There were several missed calls and messages, but he ignored them. More than half were from Dean anyway; Sam didn't have to listen to them to know what was said on them. With one last look at the driver, he dialed and put the phone up to his ear. There was barely half a ring before it was answered.

"Sam? Holy shit! Where are you?" Dean was practically yelling into the phone and Sam could hear his father talking animatedly in the background.

"Dude, just listen. I don't have a hell of a lot of time here," he said quietly. "They're taking me somewhere, Dean. I'm turning on my GPS. You're gonna have to track me."

"Yeah, okay. But Sammy, are you okay? Who…What has you?"

"I'm fine for now. Look, there're two of them. I don't know what they are. Tell Dad that when they're not possessing someone, they look like clouds of black smoke. And when they're in someone, their eyes go dark, black almost. He might be able to figure out what they are." Sam couldn't bring himself to tell Dean that they'd possessed him, whatever they were; he didn't need his brother freaking out right now.

"Sam?" It was a voice Sam hadn't heard in nearly two years. It was his father. He must have taken the phone away from Dean. "Son, hold on. We'll find you. Dean's logging into your cell account right now. Get that GPS on and don't let them find out."

"Yeah, Dad, I'm on it. Get here quick, please… I don't think I can do this much longer."

"We'll get to you as soon as we can. Any idea on where they're taking you?"

"No. They knocked me out, and then, I don't know, they may have gotten back inside me again for a while. I have no idea. I don't recall much. How long's it been?"

"So they _have_ been possessing you. Dammit." Sam heard a heavy sigh and a curse come over the line. "It's only been a day, Sam. I know it probably feels like longer. Christ. Whatever they're making you do, don't for one minute think anything they make you do is your fault. You hear me?" John was fully aware of what demons were capable of. His youngest was just the type of person who would blame himself for anything that might happen at his hands, even if possessed.

"Yeah, Dad. Look, I gotta go before I get caught. Just hurry."

"We'll find you, Son."

The line disconnected. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, trying to keep himself composed, before opening the GPS window on his phone and turning it on. He tucked the device deep into his pocket. Hopefully, the creatures wouldn't notice he had it until it was too late.

Sam looked at the back door to the van. It was boarded up so all that was left on the inside was a seam. There was no way to try to get it open. The only other way out was through the front of the van, but he'd have to get past the driver. More than likely, he'd only get himself killed trying to go that route. Sam would have to settle back and wait for now. It was possible a window for escape would come up once they got to wherever they were going.

He rested his head back on the hard floor and was soon lulled to sleep by the quiet sounds of the road.

* * *

As Dean waited for the website to get a lock on Sam's GPS (it seemed to be taking forever), he thought about how much it was a good thing Sam always seemed to somehow get his hands on the latest cell phones. Dean never cared about having a newer phone, but Sam seemed to crave the things. Finally, a soft _ping_ sounded and a small blue dot showed up on the map. "Dad."

In a breath, John was at his son's shoulder, looking at the monitor. "Goddammit."

Sam was just over the border in Oregon; Grants Pass to be specific. It was nearly a seven hour drive from Stanford.

"What the hell's up there?" Dean slapped his hand down on the desk causing the laptop to jump on the surface.

"Nothing. That's what." John was on the move. "Come on, Dean. We've got a long ride ahead of us," he said as he started stuffing his belongings back into his duffel. "Take the laptop. I have a wireless card you can use. Make sure you grab the charge cord, too, so we don't have to worry about that."

Dean looked at the small moving dot. _Sammy, you better keep your ass alive._ He closed the lid and yanked the cord from the wall. His stuff was mostly packed. He never really took anything out except for a change of clothes.

Within five minutes, father and son were making their way toward I-5N. It was going to be a long damn ride, especially not knowing what they were going to find at the other end.

* * *

Sam woke up when the van stopped moving. He heard the door up front open and close as the driver got out. He sat up and backed up so he was pressed up against the wall, not knowing where they were or what was going to happen to him. A second later, Sam heard the handle on the back door unlatching and then the creak of the door as it opened. In the darkness, all he saw was the silhouette of Big & Burly.

"Come on, kid. Don't make me come in there and get you out. Move it," he growled.

Sam bit his bottom lip, contemplating what he should do. He didn't really have any options, so he shifted his feet under himself and stood up, hunched over at the waist due to the low ceiling. He shuffled forward, the links between the ankle cuffs clattering as he moved. He got to the door and leapt to the ground, almost falling over when he hit, but Big & Burly caught his arm before he went down.

To his surprise, the man produced a key from his pocket and crouched down to unlock the ankle cuffs. They fell to the ground, and then he stood to unlock the cuffs at his wrists. Big & Burly looked at his stunned expression and smirked.

"Don't think you're going anywhere. You're still very much under our control right now."

Just then, Sam figured out why there was only one of them. He felt a shifting in his mind. _No…_

_"Oh, yes, Sammy. I never left you. I just decided to hitch a ride in your noggin. It's pretty interesting what goes on in this head of yours."_ An evil laugh resounded in Sam's head. "_And yes, I know all about your little plan with Daddy and big brother. I know they're on the way here. Believe it or not, you saved me a lot of trouble by doing what you did."_

Sam suddenly felt unsteady on his feet and wavered on weak knees. He reached out to the van to hold himself up.

"What's the matter, Sammy?" Big & Burly asked. "Got some unexpected company in there?" The big man chuckled. "Ol' Cal's a piece of work, ain't he?"

Sam barely heard the words. This was just too much. He doubled over at the waist and retched; nothing much came out. He wasn't even sure when he had eaten last. He fell to his knees and took deep, heaving breaths; his body shook. _This can't be happening._

_"Oh, yes, Sammy. This is real. You and me? We're gonna to have a good time. We'll do things you never dreamed of. What we've done so far…that's just the tip of the iceberg."_

Sam felt a shift in his mind as the being came forth. He fought, scratched and clawed with what little energy he had, but there was nothing he could do as he fell into the semi-darkness of his mind, helpless. The thing let him stay aware, for now at least. Sam screamed out in frustrated rage.

_"Shut the mouth or I'll hurt you. One thing you should know right away, I don't need you alive. I just need your body. I can kill you and still be just as happy in this wonderful meatsuit of yours."_

As if to prove some point, Cal held his hand out to Big & Burly. "Will, give me your knife." The same dagger that the other man had used on Sam earlier was brought out and handed over. Cal lifted the deadly blade so Sam could get a good look at it in the moonlight and smiled when he felt the hunter flinch.

Sam barely had time to brace himself before Cal suddenly flipped the weapon in his hand and stabbed him in the thigh, all the way to the hilt. Sam's agonized cry rang out in the confines of his mind; the only one who could hear it was Cal. It only got worse when the knife was twisted, tearing even farther into the muscles and tendons of Sam's leg. That was when Sam's mind blanked out; he heard the wicked laugh of the entity as he started to lose consciousness. Who knew you could still pass out when you weren't in control of your own body?

* * *

Just south of Anderson, California, John pulled off the highway and into a Quik-E-Mart station. Dean went to relieve himself and then went inside to pay for the gas and pick up some food to tide them over until whenever they got to eat again. He came out just as John was putting the cap on the gas tank.

"Got us a couple of sandwiches for the road," Dean said, waving the plastic bag in the air as he opened the driver's side door. It was nice to get behind the wheel again. He hated playing passenger, but when he traveled with his dad, it was inevitable and Dean had given up a long time ago arguing about it.

John stood up and wiped his hands off on his jeans. "Sounds good. I'll be right back." He strode off to the side of the building to the restroom.

Dean started the car up a few minutes later when he saw John heading back over. After the man dropped down into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed behind him, Dean handed him one of the two sandwiches from the bag. "All they had was tuna salad. Coke or Sprite?" He held up both cans of soda. John took the Sprite.

"Thanks." The elder Winchester unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. "We still have a bit to go on I-5. What was the last you saw on Sam?"

Dean shifted the car into drive and pulled back out onto the road. "I checked about ten minutes ago. Same as the last couple of times, they've stopped just west of Grants Pass. Looks like they're in the middle of a state forest."

"That's about all there is up there. I'm gonna give Bobby a call, see if he knows of anything going on up that way. There has to be a reason they decided to go there." He took another bite of his sandwich as he dug his phone out.

* * *

Dean only heard half the conversation as his father spoke to Bobby. From what he could hear, it sounded like there were a couple of hunters in the Grants Pass area. That concerned him. All they needed was some hunter offing his brother while he was being possessed. Dean subconsciously pressed down on the accelerator.

"What'd he say, Dad? Should we be worried, well, aside from what we're already dealing with?"

"He's gonna try to make some calls. Lee is up there with a couple of guys. You remember him, don't you? I've done a couple of jobs with him in the past, one of Bobby's old friends. They were checking on some missing persons reports from the same area, possibly a wendigo or a black dog. He'll let them know what's going on. But he couldn't guarantee anything. Cell reception is shit out there in the woods."

Dean glanced over to his father. Over the years he had learned his father's different expressions. Right now, he looked like he had something on his mind that was worrying him. "Dad, don't be holding shit back on me. I can tell you know something. You gotta come clean with me here."

John took another sip of his soda and shifted uncomfortably in the seat. He couldn't put anything past Dean; the man was too smart and observant. Anyway, Dean would need to know if they were going to save Sam. John didn't look at the younger hunter as he began to speak, but continued to stare out the window ahead of him. "They're demons, Dean. Demons have your brother."

The car swerved as Dean's eyes snapped over to John. "You're fucking kidding me! And you were going to tell me this when? Dammit, Dad." Dean swept a hand through his hair in irritation.

"I had to be sure first. Sam confirmed it for me when he told you about the black eyes and smoke. I've hunted a lot of evil in my life, but I've never went head-on with a demon, even though I've been looking for them. They're dangerous, more dangerous than anything we've come across since your mother…"

The car was quiet then. It wasn't a comfortable silence either. Dean looked over at his father after a while. The man's features were drawn. In the passing lights of the highway, Dean saw something he didn't see often; his father was scared. What kind of chance did Sam have if even John Winchester was scared? He shook his head as he thought about his brother. Suddenly, Dean slammed an open palm down on the wheel, causing even John to jump. "What the hell are we gonna do? I mean, how do we kill a demon without killing Sam, too? What if the other hunters get to him first?"

"Dean, we'll figure it out. Just get us there in one piece." John took another bite of his sandwich and chewed. He wasn't really hungry anymore and he didn't even taste the food, but knew he had to eat. "There's one other thing. Lee and his crew just exorcised a demon in Idaho. It's possible they're being targeted by the two who have Sam."

"Shit, Dad." The demon was using Sam to hunt hunters? Yeah, they better get there quick.

* * *

_"Saaammmyyy…. Wake up in there."_

Sam blinked his eyes open...well, not really his eyes per se because the demon still had complete control of his body and movements, but he was awake and aware now. He had no idea how long he'd been locked away in his own mind.

_"Atta boy. We're gonna go on a little field trip, me and you. I'm gonna let you stay warm and cozy down in there until I'm ready to share with you, but I just wanted to make sure you were there first."_

The young hunter could sense the evil intent of the being and tensed up. His anger surged at being held against his will and he made another attempt at fighting the thing. He pushed with his mind until it hurt, used everything he had to try to purge the evil from his body. And all he got for the effort was laughter.

"_You're just going to wear yourself out, Sammy. I have an eternity. How about you? We can do this all night if you want."_

_"Fuck you!"_ Sam yelled out.

More laughter. _"Such language, Sam. You're a feisty one. You know what? Since you're awake, maybe I'll just take care of a little something I've been meaning to do before we head out. After all, I don't want anything to happen to this nice little bond that we share."_

Sam couldn't tell what was going on as Cal shifted and placed a hand to his side. Suddenly, a fire seemed to rip through Sam's tender skin and he cried out at the searing pain. He could smell burnt flesh. Whatever it was the creature had done, he knew it was bad. He caught a glimpse of Will sitting at the kitchen table of whatever place they were staying at. The man had a smug grin on his face.

_"That was just me putting the padlock on things. Now no one can break us up."_ He laughed when he felt Sam's despair bleeding through their connection. _"Oh, don't you worry. I promise to keep you safe…at least for now."_

Sam tucked down into himself, trying to get as far away from the creature as he could while being held prisoner in his own body with it. He only hoped Dean and his father would find him before something else happened.

* * *

"Dad, he's moving again."

John and Dean were roughly a half hour south of Grants Pass. John was at the wheel and Dean had woken up only minutes ago from a nap. It was very early Sunday morning, Sam's birthday. It looked like Sam wasn't exactly going to have a Happy Birthday this time around.

"Where are they headed?" John glanced over at Dean who was tapping away at the keys on Sam's laptop, trying to get a magnified view of the area.

"Um, looks like they're heading east, back toward the center of Grants Pass."

"Well, keep watching. Let me know when they stop."

"So what's our plan when we catch up with them?"

"The only real thing we have against them is an exorcism. Holy water, salt, and iron will slow 'em down, but won't get rid of them. We have to be careful Dean. Two of them is gonna be a big handful.

"And don't forget that they have telekinetic powers, too. They can pin you down or snap a man's neck with little more than a thought or a gesture."

"Sounds like loads of fun," Dean deadpanned. He wasn't liking their odds; it didn't sound like they had a chance in Hell at getting Sam back in one piece…that was if any of them survived. "Did Bobby have any other ideas?"

"He mentioned a Devil's trap could help, but that's not feasible unless we have time to set it up first. I just don't see that happening."

At Dean's questioning look, John explained what a Devil's trap was. Dean agreed; he couldn't see them taking the time paint a detailed symbol like that on a floor or ceiling.

"We're just gonna have to do our best, Dean."

* * *

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Sam found himself aware again. They were at a large warehouse alongside a set of train tracks; there were no cars in the lot so Sam assumed it must be an off day. The thing inside him was currently slinking along a wall, keeping out of sight and he didn't see Will anywhere.

_"Yes, we're flying solo from here on out. Will has other places to be, other things to do," _the being said in response to Sam noticing they were alone. He wrenched a side door open and stepped into the dusty gloom beyond. _"So, are you ready for some fun, Sammy? I'm going to take advantage of your knowledge as a hunter, use it to avenge my fallen brothers. As a matter of fact, we're meeting up with a few of your old hunter friends in, oh…," _he looked at Sam's watch, _"less than five minutes, I'd say."_ They were making their way through the packaging machines and shipping containers that were laid out on the warehouse floor.

Sam groaned. What the hell was this thing that was riding him? It was going to hunt other hunters while using his body? Just fucking awesome. If he got lucky, maybe they'd kill him first.

The demon heard what Sam was thinking and snickered. _"Nah, I don't think they'll be so lucky. You know why? Because they're gonna think it's you until it's too late. In no time at all, you're going to be famous, Sammy… Samuel Winchester: hunter turned killer."_

_"They'll never believe it's me,"_ Sam said stubbornly. He was starting to get a very bad feeling about what was possessing him, more so than he had in the last what, day, couple of days, week? There was no way to know for sure. No spirit had enough nuts and bolts to be this strategic, not that Sam had ever witnessed anyway. The only other thing that he knew of that could possess a person was a-

_"You're thinking too hard up there. You're starting to give me a headache." _A hand came up and knocked on the side of Sam's head lightly. _"But my, my, my…it took you long enough to figure it out. I would have thought it was fairly obvious to you what I am. Yes, Sam. I AM a demon. And your hunter pals? They'll never know what hit them. Why, I've already called a couple of numbers in your phone. There's one particular hunter up here that I have a bone to pick with and I just happened to get his number from one of your contacts. He should be here shortly. Once we take care of him, we'll move on to the next. You've got quite the handy dandy list in your phone. It should keep us busy for a while. Maybe after we're done here, we'll find that old friend of yours. What's his name? Bobby? He just sent someone very close to me back to Hell. And your Pastor Jim, too. And Jessica… She sounds like a really nice girl, so sweet and trusting."_

_"Oh, God! No! You leave them alone, you evil piece of shit!"_ Sam was stunned. He was still reeling from the confirmation of his worst nightmare when he felt the demon suddenly tense up, almost like a cat sensing its prey.

A door at the other end of the building opened and three men walked into the warehouse. Sam instantly recognized one of them. Once more, no matter how much he struggled, he found himself held down, unable to do anything but watch.

"Sam? Is that you?" The man he recognized headed over in Sam's direction. It was one of Bobby's friends, a hunter named Lee. He'd known the guy for years; his father had even done a few jobs with him.

"_No! Go back! You're gonna get killed!" _Sam yelled to no avail. He could hear Cal laughing at his useless warning as he approached the three men. If only his dad and Dean could get here before something happened; they couldn't be too far away.

"Lee, it's good to see you. I'm glad you were able to come on such short notice," Sam heard himself say. "I've been tracking a demon up here. Bobby told me you were in the area and that you might be able to help."

"Sure, Sam. Anything I can do for you. Lord knows your dad has helped me out of a few tight spots." Lee paused as a thought occurred to him. "I thought you were off at Stanford, at least that's what I heard."

"I got pulled back in. You know how it is. Once a hunter, always a hunter, you know? Tough to get out of it."

Lee smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're right." The man glanced around the warehouse. "What are you doing hunting one of these things all alone for? Where's your dad and brother?"

"Oh, they'll be here soon. I just got a bit of a head start on them." Sam felt himself smile reassuringly at the man. "But if you really want to know, I don't need their help." The smile twisted into something dark and lethal.

Sam saw the look on the hunter's faces change all of a sudden as they backed up and took defensive positions. He guessed the thing inside himself decided to reveal its true nature. So much for hoping help would get here in time. The demon was moving too quickly with his plans.

Lee eyed the demon warily, but didn't make any further moves. He knew all too well the danger he and the others were in. "Is this your new thing, playing Trojan horse?" he asked the demon.

"Hey, whatever works," Cal replied, watching the men's movements closely. When he saw the man on the right start to lift his shotgun, he flung him up against the wall with a flick of his wrist. The man fell unconscious to the floor; his shotgun sliding noisily across the floor. "Nuh, uh, uh, boys. That's not how things are gonna play out today."

"What do you want?" Lee stood his ground and glared at the demon; his fingers curled into fists.

"I want you dead," Cal stated flatly.

The statement spurred the hunters to move. Sam watched as everything unfolded in front of him. Lee pulled an iron dagger from a hidden sheath under his jacket and the other man drew a pistol on him. Sam could feel the power surge through him as Cal got ready to send them across the room like the first hunter. If only he could sidetrack the demon in some way…

Sam started yelling as loud as he could; he began to rage and kick and scream. "_You bastard! Don't you hurt them! When my father gets here, you're gonna wish you never found me! Get the hell out!" _He pushed and pulled, but it only caused the demon to push back and Sam found himself thrown down, bound and gagged in his own mind. He was shut off. But it _had_ caused the demon to hesitate, and for that, Sam was glad. It might have been just enough to give Lee time to do something.

_"Stay there, Sam. I'll deal with you later," _was the last Sam heard. He shivered at the ominous threat.

* * *

John pulled the Impala up outside the warehouse where Sam's cell signal was coming from. "Okay, Dean. I know it's Sam, but you gotta keep your head on straight." He looked over at Dean. The elder Winchester knew his son wasn't overly familiar with demons. He had always tried to shield his boys from the sons of bitches because he was always scared something like this was going to happen. The ones he had hunted, he hunted without Sam and Dean, but without any success. John had been honest with Dean earlier when he said he'd never come face-to-face with one. All he had ever seen was the aftermath, and it was never pretty.

"If he _is_ being possessed, what you see, the things he does, it's not him; he has no control over his actions. But also, whatever happens to him, he feels every bit of it. This thing can kill Sam, but keep his body animated until whatever time it decides to leave. We need to figure out how to keep your brother safe and alive until we can come up with something to get it out of him."

"Yeah, I got it, Dad. Don't worry. Let's just get this done." Dean knew more about demons than his dad was aware of, not as much, but enough. He'd done his research over the years. Lord knew his father left them alone often enough. What else were they going to do in their down time? Dean didn't like knowing what the demon was capable of doing to his brother. He wanted to tear its ugly head off, but it didn't have one to tear off, unless he counted Sam's. "Shit," he mumbled as he followed his father across the parking lot.

They entered the building as quietly as they could. The two men separated and kept themselves hidden behind the machinery and crates as they made their way across the floor. Somewhere up ahead they could hear someone reciting an exorcism ritual. And then they heard Sam laughing. Dean looked over at John as they got closer and the man gestured for him to get ready.

* * *

"…Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam secure tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus…audi nos." The last few words of the ritual flowed flawlessly from Lee's mouth. The demon appeared to have weakened some when he had started reciting the words and Lee hoped Sam wasn't broken underneath the possession. He knew what demons were capable of and the kid didn't deserve to go down like that. The hunter also wondered where John and Dean were. _If _they were still alive, they couldn't be too far away.

Lee and Paul both waited for the demon to be expelled. They watched as a shiver passed through Sam's body, but nothing happened. Lee knew the ritual almost as well as his alphabet; this was the first time it didn't work. He took a step back as the demon took a deep breath and pulled himself up to Sam's full height. The kid was always too freakishly tall for his own good and now, with a demon shacking up inside him, he was more than intimidating.

The demon looked at the hunters and snarled. "You think you're gonna get rid of me that easily, well, sorry, not gonna happen today."

"Hey!" a yell came from the shadows somewhere behind Sam's form. The demon's eyes narrowed and he swiveled on his heel only to see two hunters approaching from behind him.

Lee looked down the aisle behind the demon. It was John and Dean Winchester. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Paul. He mouthed the word "Winchesters" and Paul nodded. Their hopeless situation might not be so hopeless after all.

The sharp sound of a gunshot filled the air and the demon cried out as the wrought iron round bit deeply into its shoulder; blood immediately started to seep through Sam's shirt. John hated to do it, but he needed something to slow the demon down. It looked like the thing was just about to send Lee and his men on a one-way trip to the afterlife.

The demon growled and raised a hand in front of him. With a flick of its wrist, John was thrown to the side. The demon turned back around and sneered at the two hunters. The third man was just getting to his feet from where he had collapsed on the floor minutes earlier.

_"Your time's up," _the demon hissed.

"No!" Dean yelled and ran. But he was too late. Just as he collided with Sam's solid form, he saw three bodies drop to the floor out of the corner of his eye, their necks all snapped with a thought.

"You goddamn son of a bitch! Get the hell out of Sam!" In his fury, Dean grabbed the demon by the neck and slammed him down hard against the concrete floor. He cringed when Sam's skull connected loudly with the unforgiving surface, but Dean knew his brother would forgive him if they ever got him out of there. "You hear me you piece of shit? Or I'll personally send your ass back to Hell in a fucking hand-basket."

The demon only smiled up at Dean. "Make me, hunter," he said daringly.

All Dean could see was the demon; there was no Sammy. He lost it then and sent a bone-jarring right hook into the evil smirk that had made its way onto his brother's face; blood began to flow from a split lip.

Just then the black eyes looking up at Dean blinked and turned to a familiar hazel. A pain-filled groan tumbled from Sam's mouth. "Dean?" The youngest Winchester put his arms up, trying to block any further hits.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam suddenly found himself _there. _And Dean was on top of him with a deadly glare in his eye, poised to send a fist straight into his face. Sam had _never_ been on the receiving end of the look that was currently on his brother's face. He now knew what every supernatural thing Dean had ever killed saw in the last seconds of their lives…and it scared the living shit out of him.

"Dean?" Sam said weakly as he threw his arms up in an attempt to protect himself from the blow. His jaw felt tender where he had a pretty good idea he had already taken a fierce hit from his brother and his head hurt where it rested on the floor. (And holy shit! Had he been shot?)

Dean stopped mid-swing, his green eyes wide with surprise. He instantly relaxed his grip on Sam's collar and dropped his arm, blinking back tears that he hadn't realized had welled up in his eyes. What the hell was he doing? The demon had pushed him just that little bit, dared him even, and Dean had snapped. "Sam?" His voice was shaky with emotion.

"Yeah, Dean, it's me." Sam lowered his arms, but remained still under his brother, not wanting to make any sudden movements. He didn't know what the demon might have done to make Dean start pounding on him like he apparently was and he wasn't sure how his brother, or father, was going to react if he moved too quickly. He turned his head what little he could to look for the other man, but couldn't see him from where he was.

"Oh, God, Sammy… I…I'm so sorry. I don't know what got into me." Dean saw that his hand was trembling as he reached down and wiped the blood from Sam's chin with his thumb. He sensed John come up from behind him a second later and looked up at the man, hope in his eyes, but it was dashed when he saw his father still holding his gun, steadily aiming it at Sam. "Dad, what the hell? Put that down. Don't you think between the two of us, we've done enough?"

"Dean, the demon's still in him." John looked from son to son. Sam looked like he'd been ridden for a month rather than just barely more than twenty-four hours; the kid was bone-tired…eyes dull and sunken in and his face had taken on a gaunt, starved look. The possession was taking a lot out of him. "Get up, Son," he said to Dean. "It's not safe to be that close to him." John looked down at Sam. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but I know you understand." It killed John to have to handle his youngest like this, like a monster, but he had no choice.

Sam nodded slowly and then looked up at Dean. He lifted his brow, waiting. "You heard him, Dean; he's right." Sam closed his eyes when his brother hesitated and gripped his good shoulder tightly in a loving gesture before getting up. He felt Dean's solid weight disappear as his brother stood.

John pulled Dean away from Sam once he was on his feet and stepped in front of him, shielding him. He watched Sam as he got up. "Sam, you okay?"

"I'm not great, but I'm alive." Sam was looking down at the front of his shoulder, pressing a hand to the bullet wound. He pulled his fingers away and they were sticky with blood. It was a clean shot, in and out, and it appeared to be clotting already, but the damn thing hurt like hell. He looked up at his father and saw the regret on John's face. "You shot me?" he asked in disbelief.

"I didn't have a choice. I was trying to stop you…it…from killing…," but John dropped off. He wasn't sure if Sam even knew what had happened, but Sam figured it out quickly when he spun around and saw the three dead hunters.

"Oh, God!" Sam looked between Dean and his dad and the fallen men, but looked back at his father when he heard him ask him a question, bringing him back to firmer ground.

"Sam, do you know why Lee's exorcism didn't work?" John was more than a little concerned. Aside from an exorcism, he had no idea how to force the demon from his son. If the young hunter had any information… These few extra minutes with Sam _couldn't_ be wasted. They might just be critical in saving his son's life.

Sam glanced back over at the murdered hunters, he couldn't help but stare; _he_ had done that. And then he looked back at John. His tongue darted out and licked his dry lips; his whole mouth felt parched. "He tried to exorcise it? But…" Sam could still _feel_ Cal in him, like a parasite gnawing at his soul; it made him sick. He was a ticking time-bomb.

_Why wouldn't an exorcism work?_ he thought to himself. Then it dawned on him. Cal had done something to lock the two of them together. "Fuck," Sam muttered as his hand reflexively went to his side where his flesh still burned painfully. He couldn't believe he had forgotten and grimaced as his fingers ghosted over the brand. He lowered his fingers to the hem of his shirt and gripped it; Sam was afraid to look. He chewed on his bottom lip as he slowly lifted the material.

"What the goddamn hell is that?" Dean asked angrily, pushing John aside so he could take a couple of steps forward and get a better look at the reddened skin. There was a palm-sized sigil of sorts burned directly into his brother. "Oh, that demon's so going down," he growled under his breath, not to anyone in particular.

"I…I don't know. He said he was making sure no one could break us apart. It's like a lock or something." Sam let the shirt drop back down and flinched when he heard Cal in his mind again.

_"That's right, Sam. You're mine. I own you. And there's nothing they, or anyone else, can do about it."_

A shiver passed through Sam at the chilling reminder from the demon. He wanted to just curl up somewhere and die; he couldn't deal with this. How many? Five dead now…by _his_ hand. Sam turned pleading eyes to his father. "Dad, you gotta do something…please. I can _feel_ him in here." He tapped an index finger against his temple. His eyes began to water and his lower lip started to tremble. "Kill me if you have to, but… I just can't keep going like this, not anymore. I can't _kill_ anyone else." If it was possible, Sam felt the equivalent of Cal rolling his eyes. "Please, Dad… I can't."

John had been quiet, thinking, since Sam raised his shirt. The mark was nothing he had ever seen before. He was also still on guard, watching every little movement Sam made, looking for telltale signs of the demon emerging. Hell, John couldn't even be sure that who (or what) they were talking to _was_ Sam. _These damn demons and their head games_. Bobby had warned him something like this could happen. If what Sam was saying was true and he was bound to this demon... He sighed. "Sam, don't you let the damn thing win. We'll figure this out."

_"Sure he will. He looks a little lost to me, don't you think, Sammy?"_

Sam shook his head as if he could get rid of the demon with such an easy gesture. He looked between his father and brother. "Dad, it'll _kill_ you. I know it will." He took a couple of steps back.

"I'm not running away from this, Son," their father said stubbornly. "Dean?" John risked looking over to Dean for a moment. There was a fire in his older son's eyes that he'd never seen before. "Dean?" he said a bit more sternly, pulling Dean back from wherever he was.

"Yes, sir?" Dean was watching his brother; he could see the desperation in those wide hazel eyes. And he could tell the kid was blaming himself for what had just happened to the other hunters. It was just like Sam to do that and it went against every brotherly instinct Dean had not to go to Sam, try to protect him somehow.

His dad gave him a _look_ that said they were moving onto Plan B. Dean groaned inwardly. He wasn't wholeheartedly on board with their secondary plan, but his dad wouldn't take "no" for an answer when he tried to argue with him earlier. They were out of other options right now.

But seriously? How much more could Sam take? Aside from just being plain outright possessed, their father had shot him and Dean had come close to beating the crap out of him (even if it had been the demon at the time). That was just the physical aspect. He could see Sam was already breaking. Dammit.

Their backup plan would be risky for Sam. That had been Dean's biggest argument: it would be no better if they accidentally killed Sam than if the demon did it himself, especially now with how worn out and exhausted he appeared to be. They also, literally, had only one shot at this. Otherwise, John would have taken the chance before instead of putting a bullet through Sam.

The only good thing was that at least they'd have better odds getting this done with Sam at the wheel. Dean was going to have to keep Sam occupied while their father made his move. The sad thing was, was Dean couldn't even warn his brother. Whatever Sam knew, the demon sharing his mind would know, too.

"Sammy, why don't you, um, sit down, take a load off. You're lookin' a little green there."

"Dean, I'm fine, just-"

"Sit down, Sam," Dean said a bit more firmly. Plan B would be a whole hell of a lot easier on Sam if he was down on the ground.

Sam looked at Dean, confused, and then to his father who nodded. He sat down on the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest protectively. He trusted his father and brother, but couldn't help knowing that, first and foremost, they were here to take out this demon.

_"Whatcha think they're up to, Sammy?" _Cal nudged questioningly. _"Think it's time for me to come out and play, let them know who's in charge here?"_

Sam's heart rate increased upon hearing Cal. "No," he mumbled, but he felt the subtle shift. He looked up at John as he felt himself slipping. "Dad…," was all Sam got out as he felt himself taken over again.

_"Just sit tight, Sammy. This will all be over in a few minutes," _Cal sneered.

The demon slid into place just as John reached into his coat and pulled a tranquilizer gun out. He had it aimed at Sam in a heartbeat, but the demon moved before John could pull the trigger.

The gun flew from John's hand and then he was tossed haphazardly off into the far wall, his head making brutal contact with it. He wasn't unconscious, but he was more than a little stunned. Sam could only watch as the demon turned and threw Dean into one of the large packaging machines. The young man impacted solidly with a grunt and fell to the floor in a heap.

_"Leave them alone!" _Sam cried out as he watched helplessly. _"Please, stop. You already have me. God, what more do you need?"_ His father and brother didn't have a chance.

_"Shut your mouth, Sam. You've already disappointed me enough today."_ The demon put up a mental gag and looked at the two hunters sprawled out on the floor in front of him, narrowing his eyes. "Well, if it isn't Papa Winchester and his perfect little soldier, Dean."

The demon laughed, the black of its eyes flooded out Sam's innocent hazel and focused on John. He walked over to where the hunter had fallen, picked up the tranq gun in passing, and hefted it in his hand. "Such a nice little toy, John. You hunters are getting high tech these days." He lifted an eyebrow as he looked it over then looked back at the eldest Winchester. "Good idea, too. It may have just worked…but you need to move faster than that."

"You quit your goddamn mumbo-jumbo shit and go head-on with me, I'll show you a few moves," Dean muttered defiantly under his breath from the floor. He was still trying to get his legs under him, but some unseen demonic force was keeping him in place.

The demon turned toward Dean and tilted its head from side to side, cracking its neck. "You need to be quiet," Cal said with a snarl. Suddenly, he raised a hand and the hunter felt his throat constricting. Dean began to gasp for air, not being able to breathe, as he was choked by an unseen hand.

"Enough!" John yelled from where he was being held against the wall. It was all too disturbing watching _Sam_ doing that to Dean, even if John knew it wasn't really Sam. "What do you want?"

The demon's eyes snapped back to John. "What do I want? Really? Why, I want your heads on a platter, John, along with every other hunter out there." Cal took a few steps toward the man. He finally let his hand drop to his side and Dean slumped over, taking in deep lungfuls of air.

"I have plans for your boy, and this," he gestured behind him at the dead hunters lying on the floor, "is the only the beginning." His lip curled into a sneer. "Me and little Sammy, we're going hunting."

Cal crossed his arms and a deep-dimpled, all-too-familiar smile appeared on his face as he began to pace between the two Winchesters. "I was thinking about ripping your hearts out while Sam watched, but it'll be so much more interesting keeping you alive…for the time-being anyway. You'll be able to witness your fellow hunters dropping by your son's own hand. And Sam? He'll be there for all of it and he'll keep breaking…piece by piece. I'm sure you can tell, he's already not who he was. But rest assured, I'll stop by and say hello when I've had my fill, maybe even let you see your little Sammy then…what's left of him anyway." The demon snickered. "We can discuss the future of the Winchesters then."

"Anyone ever tell you that _you_ talk too much?" Dean said through clenched teeth as he continued to fight against the demon's hold. He wasn't going to give up that easily. "When I find your sorry ass, and don't think I won't-"

"Dean, don't," John warned.

"Good advice, Dean. You better listen to your Daddy. It could save your life." The demon's eyes moved around the room, finally locking onto something near the younger hunter. "Well, I'd like to stay and chat, but I have some other places I'd much rather be, doing things I'd much rather be doing. And I can't have you two following me, so," he gestured at something above Dean and a deep groan echoed in the room, "stay awhile, won't you?"

A metal shipping frame wobbled under the demon's influence and shifted. Dean had just enough time to look up before it fell on him. He screamed out in pain as his leg was crushed beneath it. "Mother fucking, son of a bitch! So help me…," Dean ground out through gritted teeth.

"John, have fun digging your little soldier out of that one. I'll be seeing you around, I'm sure." The demon winked at the two men and made his way to the door, but he stopped mid-stride and turned around. "Oh, and this," he waved the tranq gun in the air, "can't let this go to waste now, can we?" He aimed the gun at John and pulled the trigger.

John grunted and bit into his bottom lip as the small dart pierced the muscle of his upper thigh. He knew it would be only moments before he lost consciousness. Shit. He watched as the demon chucked the gun off to the side and walked out the door. John slumped over, unconscious, almost before the door closed.

Dean groaned and tried to move. It just wasn't going to happen. "Well, this just sucks."

* * *

The demon had dropped the gag on Sam when he left the warehouse. _"Where are we going? You can't just leave them there like that!"_ Sam kept wanting to look back over his shoulder, not able to get Dean's agonized scream out of his mind. God, he hoped his brother's leg wasn't crushed. But there was nothing he could do now.

Cal ignored him as he walked up to a silver, late-model pick-up truck, opened the door, and got in. The keys were already in the ignition; he reached over and started the vehicle up. _"They're not really your concern anymore, Sam. You should be more worried about yourself now." _He backed the truck up, shifted into drive, and steered out onto the road. _"How's east sound?"_

* * *

The pain in Dean's leg was excruciating; his whole body was trembling as the heat of it worked its way up his side. The only good thing was that he could still wiggle his toes; he didn't think the limb was broken, thank God. Dean was also able to move the rest of his body now. Once the demon had left the building, the force holding him immobile disappeared. He guessed it was the same for his father as well.

"Dad…," he called out. He wasn't expecting an answer and predictably didn't get one. Dean rested his head back against the machine behind him. He was going to have to wait until his father woke up. The frame holding him down was too heavy to lift and Dean couldn't risk crushing his leg by playing around with it, so he left it alone. He had to hand it to the demon, he sure knew how to keep them from running out the door after him.

More than a handful of uncomfortable minutes ticked by. Dean found out early on that he needed to stay still. Just one small movement of his leg earlier had caused the metal frame to shift slightly, and not in a good way either. He found himself thinking about Sam and how his brother had practically begged their father to kill him. The kid wasn't going to last under the demon's influence for long; Dean knew that, probably more than their dad did. What the hell were they gonna do? "Sammy," he said quietly to himself, "hang in there."

Something told Dean tracking his brother's phone wasn't going to work anymore. So now they had to track and find Sam (Who knew how they were going to do that?) and then they had to figure out how to get his brother out of his bind. Dean had a feeling they were going to be making a trip to Bobby's in the very near future. The man knew symbols. Christ, the man knew just about everything about anything supernatural; he'd know what the brand on Sam's side would mean. Hopefully, he'd know how to get rid of the damn thing as well.

After a while, Dean tried calling out to John again. "Hey, Dad, wake up."

Nothing.

* * *

John was slowly coming back to consciousness. He tried to lift his head from where it hung down to his chest, but it felt like dead weight. "Dad…" Dean was calling him. He blinked his eyes and forced his head upright. He groaned. Damn tranq left him with a killer headache.

Everything was a blur; he closed his eyes and pressed thumb and forefinger into his eyelids, trying to force clarity back into them. When he opened his eyes again, he could see Dean still sitting on the floor across the room, pinned down by the metal framework the demon had dumped over onto him earlier.

"How long?" he mumbled; it felt like his mouth was full of cotton and John wasn't sure how clear the words came out, but Dean seemed to understand him.

"A little over a half hour. I guess it's a good thing you didn't load that sucker up, huh?" Dean gave a half-smile as he mentioned the tranq dart. If they had filled it completely like his dad had originally wanted to do, John would have been out for hours. Only because Dean held his ground did the man back off and lower the dose.

Dean's leg had gone numb almost fifteen minutes ago and he still hadn't decided on whether that was a good thing or not. "Think you might be able to get this thing off me?"

"Yeah, just give me a second." John was trying to get up to his feet, but his legs weren't cooperating yet; he reached out to the wall to hold himself up.

John's second turned into a few minutes before he felt he was able to step away from the support of the wall. He started walking around, albeit a little unsteadily, looking for something to use as leverage to lift the frame from Dean's leg. "Is it broken?" he asked as he searched.

"Nah, just hurts like a bitch. Might need one of those miracle pills you got though."

John eventually came back with a long metal bar. "Alright, Dean. As soon as I lift, you get the hell out from under that thing." He shoved the bar under the end of the frame closest to Dean's leg and lifted with a grunt. It hardly budged, but it was enough. "Move it, Dean! Now!"

Dean quickly backpedaled out from under the frame. Just as he was about to clear it, John lost his grip and it fell back to the floor with a loud _CLANG!_ It clipped the toe of Dean's boot, but he was far enough out from under it that that was all it did. He massaged his leg, trying to get circulation back into it. "Remind me not to piss off a demon again," he groaned out as the pins-and-needles feeling started up. But, oh yeah, that was supposed to be a good thing, right?

John ignored the comment. Dean's quips came in abundance these days and the elder Winchester had learned to ignore them early on. "Can you stand?"

"Just give me some time, Dad. You didn't just have a couple hundred pounds of playground equipment come crashing down on you," Dean grumbled. He didn't know why, but the frame had somehow reminded Dean of a jungle gym.

The younger hunter took a deep, steadying breath and got his good leg under him. Not only did he have a fucked up right ankle, but now his right leg was screwed up, too. He gingerly allowed his weight to settle down on the injured leg and winced. Yeah, maybe it wasn't broken, but holy crap it hurt.

"Well?" John asked impatiently as he stood over him.

"I'll live. Just give me a hand getting out to the car," Dean said with an air of defeat.

* * *

The demon took Sam's phone out of his pocket. The first thing he did was shut the GPS down and lock out any third parties from gaining access to the phone remotely. Sam was amazed at how deftly the demon handled his phone, but then he remembered, the demon could pull anything he wanted from his mind, including how to work his phone. (It was a scary thought and Sam wondered what else the demon had picked from his brain.)

Cal brought up Sam's contact list next. The hunter watched him scroll through it; so many names and faces came to mind; they were all in danger. There were at least a dozen hunters listed, people he knew because of his dad or Bobby.

_"How about Rick Bowman? That sounds like a good one to start with. He's got a Wyoming number, so he's on our way. Let's see what he's up to." _Cal dialed Rick's number and waited.

Less than ten minutes later, the demon had set up a meeting with Rick under the false pretense of a hunt, something about a haunting somewhere. They were to meet in Riverton the next evening.

_"Now that that's all set, I suppose I'll find somewhere to lock you down when we get to Wyoming. You're gonna need your rest. I can't risk you getting sick on me. But we have a little pit stop to make on the way. We can't forget that. I have a promise to keep."_

Sam remained quiet not knowing what the demon had meant by that, but he shivered nonetheless. The bastard was evil; that he knew all too well. He let himself drift, deep in thought, trying to figure out how to get himself out of this, but he really couldn't come up with anything that would work, not as long as Cal was keeping him company.

* * *

It was a while before John and Dean could leave the warehouse. John took on the gruesome task of picking up after the demon, refusing to leave until it was done. He dug a shallow grave and salt-and-burned the three hunters as Dean watched, his injured leg not allowing him to stand for very long. How many more times were they going to have to do this before they caught up with that damn demon?

John said a silent prayer for Lee and his men after he tossed the last shovel of dirt on top of the grave. He wiped the sweat from his forehead before picking a bottle of water up from the ground and taking a long draught from it. He never liked doing this stuff during the day, but today he had no choice. Then again, he never liked doing this stuff. After he was done, he went back to the car where Dean was waiting for him.

"You think you can drive?" he asked as he put the canister of rock salt, empty gas container, and shovel back into the trunk and closed the lid.

"If I need to, yeah."

"Well, you need to," John said as he retrieved his duffel from the backseat of the Impala. "I'm taking Lee's car back to Stanford. I need to get my truck. I want you to high-tail it out to Bobby's. There's a few things I need to talk to him about so I'll let him know you're on the way. I hate to admit it, but I think we're going to need his help."

John looked up at the warehouse and eyed a security camera mounted high up on the wall. He remembered noticing a truck in the lot when they got there, but hadn't thought to give it a second glance as they ran into the warehouse. It was gone now. More than likely, it was the vehicle the demon was currently using to get around in. If Bobby could work on getting the plate number from the security system, they'd have a good chance at finding Sam.

"But what about Sam? Are we just gonna let him go?"

"I'm working on that, Dean. Look." He pointedly looked up at the camera as he said the words and Dean glanced up at it, things clicking into place. "But even if we caught up with him right now, what would we do? We have to find out what that brand means first. I know it's not what you want to hear, but Sam's a big boy; he'll have to figure out how to pull through this until we can get to him. He's a smart kid and he knows we won't give up."

"Wouldn't it be something if he just pulled some miracle out of his ass?" Dean smiled, knowing it wasn't impossible. Sam had done some things in the past that had amazed even him.

"You never know. He _is_ your brother." John allowed himself the hint of a smile as he adjusted the duffel on his shoulder. "Alright, time to get moving. I'll be in touch. Make sure you rest up some along the way. I know you want to find Sam and finish this thing, we both do, but I don't want you falling asleep at the wheel either."

"Sure, Dad. You, too." Dean watched John as he walked up to an older Crown Vic and got in. He nodded at the man when his father looked back at him before pulling the Impala's driver's side door open and sliding into the warm leather seat. He had at least a day and a half of driving ahead of him. His leg was going to be feeling awesome.

As Dean settled in and started the engine, the thought occurred to him that today was Sam's birthday. "Happy friggin' birthday, Sammy." They'd both had some shitty birthdays, but Dean figured this one topped the list.

Shifting into drive, Dean pulled out onto the road and began the long trip to Sioux Falls. "Fucking demons," he grumbled.

* * *

Cal had let Sam stay around for the trip to Wyoming, but the hunter had mentally nodded off. Sam noticed that they had started their journey in Oregon from the license plates on the other cars and from the signs posted along the roads and highway. If he remembered correctly, Wyoming was something like eighteen or so hours out. He had decided to get some rest, or at least try to.

When he _awoke_, they were still on the road and it looked to be midday. He eyed passing signs on the highway. One for Elko, Nevada went by. That meant that they were close to the Utah border. Sam must have been more tired than he thought, or Cal had kept him under. There was no way for him to know for sure.

Cal sensed Sam was awake. _"I'm starting to remember why I don't take up residence in the same meatsuit for too long. The living have too many needs. I've had to pull over and piss three times now, and your damn stomach won't let me forget you need to eat."_

_"Well, you can always leave,"_ Sam snapped back sarcastically.

_"Sorry, it'll take more than hunger to get me to leave. Nice try though."_ Cal smiled and looked in the rearview mirror at himself, at Sam.

Sam saw the demonic, black orbs looking back at him from the mirror. It creeped him out…more than just a little. Other things had changed, too, small things about the way Cal held himself compared to Sam. His features looked more angular, harsher, for one; Sam was always so easy-going and rarely, if ever, looked so cruel. He also saw, for the first time, how drained he looked. If he survived this, it would be a miracle, even if Cal didn't kill him outright.

_"Don't worry, Sam. I'll feed and water you soon, let you get that rest I promised. We're a team," _he smiled wickedly as he said the word, _"and we'll get you back in tiptop shape before you know it. Why don't you rest a little while longer."_

Sam was gone again.

* * *

Scared whimpers filled Sam's ears when he was yanked out of the warmth and safety of the darkness deep within his mind. When he saw what was going on, he was immediately jolted back to reality. "_Jesus Christ! What-"_

There was a woman under him; she was no hunter. Cal was straddling her and holding her wrists tightly above her head on the ground with one hand. _"This is your punishment, Sam. Or did you forget? You got in my way with those hunters this morning, tried to keep me from killing them." _He leaned over and dragged his tongue up the woman's cheek. She turned her head and cried out. _"Every time you try to get in my way, I'm going to take an innocent's life. You'll learn quickly, I'm certain of it."_

_"No! I promise I won't do it again. Just don't hurt her, please." _Sam twisted and writhed, fought and pushed, but he didn't get anywhere. The demon wouldn't budge.

Cal smiled at Sam's unsuccessful attempts to push him aside. _"There you go with the whole 'please' thing again. You're so polite, Sammy. But it's too late. If I give in now, you're gonna expect it each and every time. I need to show you what will happen when you're naughty." _He ran the fingers of his free hand up through the woman's hair and then gripped her tightly. In the next instant, he slammed her head into the ground and she went silent.

_"What are you gonna do to her?"_ Sam could only watch.

_"Oh, I have plans. I'll wake you when I'm ready."_

Then darkness…

* * *

_"Oh, Saaaammm… Knock, knock. We're just waiting on you to join the party."_

Sam came to. He couldn't tell where they were. Wherever it was, there wasn't much light and it was musty smelling. A basement maybe? In front of him, the woman from earlier was stripped naked and was suspended from a beam high up on the ceiling by her wrists. He could hear nothing more than her muffled screams because of the dirty rag stuffed down her throat.

Sam wanted to tell her it would be okay, that he would save her, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. He could feel the evil leer on his face as Cal looked the woman over from head to toe slowly, making sure Sam could see what was going on. The hunter kept quiet not wanting to give the demon the satisfaction.

_"I know you're there, Sam. If you don't want to talk, that's fine, but you're going to watch. Next time, you'll remember to behave yourself."_

A knife flashed by Sam's peripheral vision. He saw the girl attempt to pull herself away, but she was suspended high enough above the ground that her toes barely touched the floor; she had nowhere to go. Her eyes flew open in pain and she screamed behind the gag as the first slash of the knife came down.

_"Oh, God. No! You gotta stop this. Please…"_ Cal made sure to remain focused on girl's pain-filled eyes as he proceeded to cut into her; the hunter could only watch. _"I'm so sorry." _Sam wished she knew how sorry he was.


	5. Chapter 5

Almost as soon as he got behind the wheel after parting ways with Dean, John took his phone out and called Bobby. The older hunter picked the phone up after several rings.

"Singer's," came the gruff and familiar voice over the phone.

"Bobby, it's John. I need you to do me a favor and crack into the security system for a company called 'Northwest Packaging & Freight'; they're up in Grants Pass, Oregon."

When Bobby responded, he had a note of apprehension in his voice. "So I'm gonna take this as you didn't get Sam."

John took a steadying breath and glanced down at the speedometer. He was trying to hold a steady seventy-five, not so fast that he'd get pulled over, but definitely not what the speed limit signs were calling for. "No, we didn't." He let a deep sigh out. "Bobby, he, the demon," John corrected himself, "took out Lee and two others and then the bastard turned my own tranq on me."

"Shit."

There was a moment of silence from both ends of the line and John could picture Bobby pulling off his baseball hat and scrubbing at his thinning hair. The man never changed, not in the nearly twenty years that they'd known each other.

"Is Dean alright?" Bobby finally asked. John hadn't mentioned his elder son.

"Yeah...at least he says he is, but his leg's messed up good. You know how he is though. He hides things almost too well, especially when Sam's involved. Sometimes even I can't tell for sure with him." _Sounds like I'm talking about my own damn self,_ John thought as he scratched at his stubbled jawline. "Speaking of, he's on his way up to you now. Sam's been branded by the thing. Dean knows what the mark looks like; he'll show you. Sam said the demon locked them together or something. If you could work on that..."

"Dammit, John. That sounds like a binding link."

"They really exist? Fuck," John grumbled.

"Yep, unfortunately. I'm surprised you've never run across one. If I remember correctly, only a few demons are capable of pulling them off. But don't you worry, I'll get right on it, see if there's a way to get Sam out of this. I have a few decent books on symbology; there ought to be something I can find in one of them. So what is it that you're needing from that security system?"

"I need the footage from sometime between three this morning and now. Back lot. Silver, late-model Dodge pick-up. I'm pretty sure that's what the demon's getting around in."

"I got a friend who can probably get that together within a few hours. You're gonna need him to track the truck, too, I'm guessing?"

"As much as you can get." And then John got quiet. "Bobby…it's Sam. Goddammit." He slammed an open palm down on the steering wheel. "What that thing's making him do... My _son_ fucking begged me to kill him."

Bobby groaned under his breath. "John, we'll get him back. You and Dean are some of the best hunters out there. If you ask me, that demon picked the wrong family to mess with."

John nodded even though Bobby couldn't see him; the corner of his lip lifted in a hesitant smile. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"Anything else you need, or are we gonna sit and chat all day like a couple of schoolgirls?"

John just shook his head and laughed lightly to himself. The man could lighten up a tense conversation when he tried. "To the point aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, you know me. Should I even ask what you're up to?"

"I told Dean I'd meet him at your place, but depending on what you and your 'friend' can dig up on that footage, I'm playing it by ear. My truck's down at the school; that's where I'm going right now. You have anyone down there who I can leave Lee's car with?"

They wrapped up the conversation with arrangements for John to leave the Crown Vic at a local salvage yard just outside of Palo Alto (Bobby had connections everywhere, it seemed) and Bobby promised to call as soon as he had anything on the truck John was looking for. Even with their roller coaster of a past, John trusted the man more than anyone aside from his two sons. Bobby was more family than not.

The eastern border of California was John's goal for the day. He'd find some shack of a motel to get some sleep in before going any farther than that. He sure as hell hoped Dean was going to do the same.

* * *

Sam was forced to watch the young woman's slow, agonizing death from beginning to end…every little slice, cut, and stab. Cal made sure to take his time, too, drawing out the girl's pain and misery. The worst bit of it, if any one thing could be considered worse than the rest, was when he eventually pulled the rag from her mouth and cut her tongue out, laughing as he did so; the sound was sickening to Sam. The hunter felt himself blacking out at that point, not being able to take it anymore. When the demon noticed him dropping off, he immediately forced Sam back to full awareness.

What felt like hours of torture passed and finally the girl succumbed to the blood loss. With a last swipe of the knife, Cal slit her throat to make sure she was dead. Sam was almost thankful when she died; her suffering over. Only once she was limp in her bonds did the demon mercifully shove Sam under again.

* * *

Sam was lying on his side in the middle of a large, open room when he awoke. The first thing he saw as he blinked his eyes open were dirt-streaked windows lining the paint-chipped walls, allowing the most minimal of light into the room. It appeared that he was in an old factory and from the mountains of dust everywhere, the young hunter guessed it had been vacated long ago.

Sam's right arm was numb from using it as a pillow and he flexed his fingers, trying to bring the blood back into it. As he did so, he rolled onto his back and lay there, staring at the distant ceiling…and he cried, tears slipping down the sides of his temples, running small rivers into his hair. Sure it wasn't the manliest thing to do, but then, most men weren't possessed and forced to witness the murder of innocent people by their own hand. Six now. Yeah, Sam was keeping count. If his father had only killed him when he asked him to, at least the nameless woman would still be alive; there would be one less.

His watch had gotten lost at some point. Minutes, or hours, went by. Sam didn't know; he didn't care. Sometime later, when the well of tears dried up and he could cry no more, he lay there, trying to force some semblance of control back over himself. His father's words of "don't you let the damn thing win" echoed in Sam's head. If he continued to lie there, that was exactly what he was doing. He was letting Cal win. Not only would his father kick his ass, but Dean would, too, probably even harder. Sam had to find a way out of this.

Shifting to sit up, he realized one leg was shackled to an eyebolt in the concrete floor. Roughly five feet of chain ran from his ankle to its anchor. Next to him, there were several bottles of water on the floor along with a bag of lukewarm food from some local fast food chain and a clean shirt.

After first checking for his phone and finding it gone (Cal had apparently wizened up about that), he pulled his pant leg up and inspected the cuff around his ankle. It appeared to be un-pickable, unbreakable, and inescapable, at least with anything he had available…which was nothing. Sam took a hold of the chain and gave it a good yank, huffing out a breath of frustration when it didn't show any give. _Yeah, not going anywhere with that._

He grabbed a bottle of water and opened it, chugging it down within seconds. Sam was sloppy and dribbled water down his chin, but who was he trying to impress? As he finished the bottle off, he noticed that, for the first time, he was alone. Sam couldn't _sense_ or _feel_ Cal in his mind; it was a beautiful thing, like a breath of fresh air. He didn't think he was being tricked this time either. Something just felt…_different._

The smell of the food was making his mouth water. When he reached for the bag, he saw that his hands were stained with blood. Sam grimaced and closed his eyes at the memory of the poor girl. _If only he'd been able to help her somehow_, he thought as he picked up another bottle of water and stood up. He walked as far away as the chain would allow him to and rinsed his hands off.

After getting as much blood off his hands as he could, Sam changed out of the soiled shirt, tossing it aside, and tugged the clean one over his head. He sat down and opened the bag of food, pulling out a hamburger first; it was practically swallowed whole. The damn thing tasted like Heaven, he was so hungry. Sam had to force himself to slow down, not needing to make himself sick. There were three burgers and two large fries. If he tried hard enough, Sam could almost imagine it was something Dean had picked up and left for him. It was such a _normal_ thing.

As he ate, he pondered over his situation. Sam needed to come up with a way to keep Cal from getting back inside him, or at the very least, make it so his father and Dean could exorcise the demon. It all came down to the brand on his side; he was sure of it.

Sam stuffed the last of the second burger into his mouth and carefully lifted his shirt up so he could inspect what Cal had done to him. His stomach immediately tightened up upon seeing the mark. It wasn't going anywhere; that was certain. His brow furrowed as he studied it. The symbol wasn't something he'd ever come across before. Sam lightly traced the brand with his finger; it still hurt, but not as much as it did earlier. At least that much was a relief.

What he did notice was that the mark was slightly different than it had been earlier. The main part of the sigil formed a complete circle, but the circle was broken now. _What the hell? _Sam stared at it with a slight frown. Cal had had to change the mark so he could leave. Sam needed to find a way to let Dean and his father know about this.

He stood up and started to walk the circumference of his ten foot wide circle. There had to be something Sam could use to get out of there.

* * *

Dean was in south central Montana when he got the call from his dad. He reached over and turned the volume down on the radio when he saw who it was. A little bit of rock 'n roll was a good way to relieve stress (even if Sam didn't think so).

"Dean, where are you?" His father's voice sounded tinny through the thin connection.

"Just west of Billings. Something up?"

John did the math in his head. "Dammit, Dean." A worried sigh escaped from between his lips. "Did you even sleep?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm fine. And yes, I _did_ get a few hours in; I'm not stupid." Dean had only gotten about four hours of sleep (in the Impala on a dirt road somewhere, but his father didn't need to know that). At least an hour of that wasn't necessarily what anyone would call sleep. He had been too busy worrying about Sam to settle down much.

"I don't know how you do it, Son." John wasn't much better. He had forced himself to get six hours of sleep. Not anywhere near what he should have had, but who could sleep while their son was possessed by a demon and doing God only knew what out there?

"Anyway," the elder hunter continued, "Bobby's friend was able to crack into the security footage from the warehouse in Grants Pass. He was able to get the plate number on the truck. The guy even tracked it through Nevada and Utah on the traffic cams, all the way into Wyoming where it was last seen leaving the highway. Dean, we think he's in Lander, just southwest of Riverton. I need you to get there, see if you can locate the truck. It's a silver 2003 Dodge. Oregon plates…G3N 824." The phone cut out for a second, but John was back. "I'm about eight hours out from there. And be careful. Don't do anything unless you absolutely have to."

"Consider me on it," was Dean's short reply. He hung up the phone and changed lanes. Five hours of hard driving were ahead of him…but so was Sam.

* * *

Sam was pacing back and forth as far as the chain would allow. There was just nothing he could do to get himself out of his predicament and his mood was becoming darker even as the day grew brighter outside. Through the crusty windows, he had seen the sun rise and cross through the sky. Hours. Hours had gone by and still there was no sign of Cal…not that he was complaining. Sam knew the demon would be back. They did, after all, have a meeting with Rick later on. Cal seemed all too overjoyed about that.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled out in frustration and kicked the last half bottle of water across the floor, spilling all that he had left to quench any further thirst. That pissed him off even more. These waiting games drove him crazy.

"Hey, that's my line."

Sam spun around, almost tripping on the chain that managed to somehow get tangled around his feet. "Dean?"

Coming out from the shadows in the far corner of the room was his brother, with his characteristic swagger (albeit with a slight limp) and a cocky smirk on his face. He wasn't as relaxed as he was making himself out to be though; Sam could see right through the facade. He could easily pick out the signs that gave Dean away…the hard lines around his eyes, his shoulders were tense, and the fingers of his right hand were twitching, ready to grab whatever hidden weapon he might be carrying. "But how?"

"Just got shit lucky for once, I guess; we're entitled to it every now and then. Don't you think?" Dean said with a smile, not getting into the fact that he'd been searching warehouse lots and old factories, typical monster hangouts, for the last couple of hours. When he drove around the rear of this building and saw the truck he was looking for, he figured it was the equivalent of pulling a Royal Flush in a hand of poker.

Sam couldn't help but look around the open space, eying the dark places he couldn't see into so well, watching for any sign of the demon. Cal may have let Dean and his dad go once, but a second time was probably pushing things. The creature could be anywhere, return at any time. He started to voice his fear when he caught Dean staring at him. "What?"

Dean kept a bit of distance between himself and his brother for the moment. "So, is _he_ in there with you? Or are you, you?" He was fairly certain it was Sam because he had been observing his brother quietly from the doorway for a while before making himself known. Everything about the way the man in front of him had been acting said it was Sam and only Sam. "And what's up with the leash?" He gestured with his chin to the chain securing Sam to the center of the room.

Sam stayed put. He'd let Dean approach him. Getting shot or tackled, or whatever else his brother might have hidden up his sleeve, wasn't high up on his priority list.

"Uh, yeah…I mean no, Cal's not here. I woke up and it was just me. I don't know where he went."

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "You're on a first name basis with it now? Geez, Sam." He glanced around the room, keeping an eye out for any unusual movement or dark shadows.

Sam didn't realize how familiar he'd gotten with the demon. "Sorry." He looked down at the shackle around his ankle. "You think you might be able to get this undone before he comes back?" He lifted his foot and shook the chain. "I mean, before your luck runs out." Sam allowed himself to smile for a brief moment, trying to break the tension.

"Yeah, no kidding" was Dean's reply. Winchester luck could never be counted on; they all knew that. "First things first, Sammy. You know I can't just unhook you."

Sam looked Dean in the eye and nodded in understanding. His brother was going to have to run him through the typical tests.

"Christo," Dean said. Nothing; no black-eyed, hissing, and spitting demon. _Well, that's a good sign._ He reached into his jacket and pulled a bottle of water out, tossing it to Sam. "Drink that."

"Holy water?" Sam asked and received a nod in return. He unscrewed the cap and drank the whole thing, dropping the bottle to the floor when he was done. "Anything else?"

Everything seemed okay, but there was one last thing. Clenching his jaw, Dean unsheathed a dagger from his hip and slid the weapon across the floor over to Sam. "Iron."

The younger Winchester leaned over and picked up the sharp blade. He tugged his sleeve up and bit his lip as he brought the knife up to his arm, pressing it into his skin. Blood seeped from the wound. No fire-and-brimstone.

"Well, that's all I got. You look good to me." Dean quickly went over to Sam and knelt down to study the cuff around his brother's ankle. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his pick set. Within seconds, Dean had the lock undone and was pulling Sam by the arm, heading back toward the door he had come in. The Impala was sitting mere feet from the entrance, parked next to the silver pick-up truck. "Come on!"

Sam stumbled a little, being thrown off-balance by Dean's swift retreat, but he was right there at his brother's heels. Sam was barely in the car before Dean had the engine turned over and was throwing the car into drive.

"Dean, where's Dad?" Sam asked as he looked over his shoulder at the vacant factory, worried Cal was floating around somewhere.

"He's probably crossing the border from Utah on his way here right now." Dean looked across the seat to Sam. "So you have no idea where the demon is, or why he left you in there like that?"

Sam sat back in the seat, scrubbing his hands over his face and up through his hair. His hair felt tangled and unkempt. It was stiff in some places and Sam knew it had to be blood. Dean's question sort of slipped off for the moment as the thought occurred to him. His mind turned to the memories of killing those people, specifically the first guy he woke up to and the girl from what? Last night? He had _felt_ the give as the knife sank into their flesh. Sam blinked, trying to hold back from breaking again. He could get through this; he had to.

"Sam? Dude, y'okay?" Dean could see Sam's breaths picking up. The kid was over-thinking things, everything that had happened. "You know none of what happened is your fault, right?"

It took a minute for Sam to snap out of it, but then he looked over at Dean. His brother's eyes were filled with concern. "I just need time. I'll be alright. And no, I wasn't privy to his social calendar. Cal, um, the demon said he wanted me to get some rest before we went back out later." Sam's eyes widened in alarm as he said the words. "Dean, we have to call Rick. The demon was going to go after him next…tonight."

Sam couldn't help but be fearful of Cal; the demon was capable of much more than what he'd made Sam do. The evil bastard needed to be sent back to Hell, but that meant confronting him again. That was all if Cal didn't find them first. Sam shivered. He was startled from his internal thoughts when Dean tossed his phone to him.

"Call Rick. Let him know what's up. Then call Dad."

* * *

John was twenty miles or so out from Lander when his phone rang. He had been driving hours through nothing but remote highway, watching desert turn into trees, and had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. There were only two people who would be calling him right now: Dean or Bobby. He pulled the device from his pocket and looked at the caller I.D.; it was Dean. He knew his eldest had had about two and a half, maybe three hours, to poke around in Lander looking for that truck, for Sam. He hoped everything was okay.

"What'd you find?" he asked as he answered.

"Dad-"

John gripped the wheel tightly when he heard the unexpected voice. "Sam? How…? Are you okay? Where's Dean?"

"We're fine, Dad. Dean's driving us to Bobby's, as quick as he can get us there. We're passing through Riverton right now."

What the hell did Dean do? It was a crap shot to even find the truck in the first place, but Sam, too? And where was the damn demon? "Sam, put your brother on the phone."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Sam haltingly replied. "Hang on."

John heard the muffled voices of his sons and then Dean was on the phone.

"Hey, Dad."

"Dean, what the hell happened? Are you sure what's sitting next to you is really Sam? I told you not to risk your ass like that." John knew Dean wouldn't have done anything stupid, but so much could have gone wrong. He couldn't even think about what it would be like if something had happened, namely the demon killing both of his sons.

Dean glanced at Sam who was watching him and raised his eyebrows. He looked back at the road ahead of them and answered his father. "Dad, he passed on everything: Christo, holy water, iron. Sam says it's gone, too."

Something felt _off_ to John. "Just… God, Dean, be careful. Okay?"

"I will, Dad. See you at Bobby's then?"

"You boys can't drive straight there. It's too far. Neither of you should be at the wheel as it is. And don't argue with me about it like I know you want to. Look, just get yourselves to Rapid City. You know that motel, the one we stayed at when we hunted that ghoul up there? I'll meet you there. Stay put. Make sure the doors and windows get salted, too. I'm probably an hour behind you."

"Okay. We'll see you there."

John hoped Dean was right about Sam. He decided to take his chances with the authorities and pushed his foot into the accelerator a little further.

* * *

Cal was seething with anger when he got back to the factory and found Sam missing. There wasn't much in the building, but what was left could only be called total chaos once he was done; workbenches were bent and mangled, fluorescent lights were shattered, water pipes were spewing, electrical wires were sparking.

When he was done with his rant and just standing there, berating himself for being so stupid as to leave a hunter alone, he smelled something in the air. Blood. His eyes narrowed in on wet drops near the chain on the floor. Cal walked over and looked at the fresh, crimson stain. Nearby was a water bottle, different than the ones he had left for Sam. He picked it up and sniffed at it, crumpling it in his hand when he learned that it was holy water.

Sam didn't get himself out. He had help…from hunters. John and Dean had found him. But how? The men couldn't have known which direction he'd headed out in.

Cal growled. He would find them, hunt them, get Sam back. The young Winchester was going to suffer when he found him. No more playing around. They were all on their final hours.

The meatsuit Cal was currently inhabiting tilted its head back and its mouth yawned wide open. A plume of black smoke poured forth from it and flew out a nearby window. Cal had a fairly decent idea on where the Winchesters were headed. After all, he'd spent enough time in Sam's head to learn quite a few interesting things about the hunter and his family.

* * *

It was close to nine o'clock that evening when Dean brought the Impala to a stop in front of the motel office; the green neon sign for the Parkview Inn reflected brilliantly off the hood of the car. The place was a dive, but it wasn't as bad as some of the others he'd stayed at in the past.

He looked over at his brother before getting out. The younger man had been quiet for most of the ride to South Dakota; that was to be expected after such an ordeal, and Dean didn't want to leave him alone, but there was no way questions wouldn't arise if Sam tagged along.

When they had gotten a safe distance from Lander, Dean had pulled off at a service station and made Sam wash up…hair, face, and hands, or at least as much as a small crappy bathroom like that could allow. He noticed that somehow his brother had managed to get a clean shirt, but his jeans were a completely different story. They were more like dried blood with a little bit of denim mixed in for show.

Sam saw Dean looking him over. "Dean, just go. I'll be fine." When the man hesitated, he said, "Go! Before I do and cause a scene."

That was enough to push Dean out of the car. "I'll be right back. _Don't _get out of the car."

Sam just rolled his eyes and tilted his head back onto the headrest. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed.

Less than ten minutes later, Sam was unlocking the door to room number fifteen while Dean went to the trunk to get their duffels and weapons bag. The room was an end unit which was good for them, less people around to hear things they shouldn't be hearing.

Sam looked surprised to see his bag when Dean tossed it onto one of the two beds.

"What, you think I wouldn't pack some stuff for you? We were stuck at your place for hours, Sam. The least I could do was throw a few things together for you. Even got your gun." He eyed Sam and cracked a smile. "Dude, you keep your gun stuffed in a sock in your underwear drawer?"

Sam scowled at his brother. "I can't just leave it lying around on the table for God's sake. Remember, I have a _normal_ life now."

"Yeah, whatever. Everything seems pretty normal to me at the moment, Mr. I've-been-possessed-by-a-demon," Dean said almost nonchalantly as he unzipped a bag and pulled out a salt canister. He disappeared into the bathroom with it and came out a minute later. "Go take a shower…and burn those pants while you're at it."

* * *

Dean went about salting the remaining windows and the door as well. For a little added protection, he drew a few extra protective wards on the door. Once finished, Dean gave a nod of approval and then made a quick call to John to let the man know they had arrived safely. John said he'd be there in less than forty-five minutes.

Food was next on the agenda. Dean's stomach had been reminding him that he was hungry since long before he found Sam. He pulled the nightstand drawer open and took the phone book out. There weren't a whole lot of choices, but Dean remembered the pizza from a particular place had been good last time he was there, so pizza it was. Two large: one with everything, except the little fish, and the other with pepperoni and extra cheese, just the way Sam liked it.

With the food ordered and nothing to do but wait for his turn in the shower, Dean kicked off his boots and sat back on the bed, fluffing the pillows up behind his back, TV remote in hand. He frowned when he noticed the water was still running. Sam normally didn't take that long to shower.

Dean got up from the bed, walked over to the bathroom door, and knocked on it. "Sam?"

No answer. Dean felt an uneasiness grow in his stomach.

"Hey, Sam, you okay in there?" He held his breath and listened.

Nothing. Nothing but running water.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean grumbled. He reached down and turned the knob. At least Sam hadn't locked it.

On second thought, Dean stepped back from the door. Yeah, Sam may have passed the tests he'd thrown at him, but Dean didn't know demons that well. Could the thing still be hiding in his brother? Or did it sneak in somehow, maybe while Sam had been waiting for him to check in at the office? Shit.

Dean went to his weapons duffel and pulled out a bottle of holy water and retrieved his iron dagger. He shook his head and sighed. "Here goes nothing." Dean returned to the bathroom door and opened it.

The sight beyond wasn't what he was expecting. Sam was crouched on the floor between the toilet and the tub, shaking uncontrollably (how he fit his sasquatch-sized body in such a small space, Dean would never know); his face was awash with tears.

"Aw, hell, Sammy."

Dean tossed the knife and the holy water onto the counter and dropped down to his knees beside his brother. He reached up and grabbed a towel, covering the younger man's naked and shivering body.

"Hey, Sammy. C'mon, I got you. Let's get you outta here, okay?"

Sam didn't respond. It was almost as if he was in some kind of shock. He didn't even blink when Dean snapped his fingers inches from Sam's nose.

"Well, if that's how you're gonna play the game." Dean let out a deep breath and got up to his feet. "Give me a sec." He went back out into the bedroom and pulled down the covers on Sam's bed, then went back into the bathroom. Dean tugged Sam over his shoulder into a fireman carry and carefully brought him out to the bed. The extra weight hurt like a mother on his bad ankle and leg, but he couldn't leave Sam to freeze to death on the cheap linoleum floor.

Once he had his brother propped up in the bed and properly covered (_No one needed to see all that_, Dean thought), Dean got a glass of water and offered it up to him. By then, Sam was starting to come around.

"You in there?" Dean tilted his head, trying to catch Sam's vacant stare, and pressed a hand down on his brother's knee, squeezing gently.

A response in the form of a slight nod came from the man. Sam's eyes turned to Dean. "I killed them, Dean. All of them. Six innocent people…"

"Sam-"

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. "Pizza delivery."

_Wonderful timing_, Dean sarcastically thought.


	6. Chapter 6

John pulled into the motel parking lot and eyed the Impala sitting at the far end of the building. Wanting to touch base with his boys before getting a room for himself, he took the empty space to the left of the car. He grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and dropped out of the truck, heading for the door.

It took a minute for Dean to answer his knock. "Who's there?"

"It's me, Dean. Open up."

The door opened an inch or two and Dean peaked out through the crack. Once he verified that it was his father on the other side, he stepped back and opened it the rest of the way as he tucked his Colt into his waistband.

John's eyes immediately went to Sam as he dropped his duffel to the floor. His youngest was asleep on the far bed with a plate of untouched pizza next to him.

"I think he's in a bit of shock," Dean said as he closed the door, locked it, and squatted down to fix the salt line. He stood up a moment later, dusting the excess salt from his hands. "He went to take a shower and I found him curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor. Dad, he's blaming himself for those murders." Dean sat down on his bed as he told his father what was going on; he was drained, both mentally and physically. "I got some water into him earlier before he completely shut down. I sat with him for a while, tried getting him to talk, but he just rolled over and wouldn't look at me. I just don't get it." Dean sounded exasperated. "He seemed fine earlier." The younger hunter scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced up at John.

"He's really out of it, too. I mean, I was able to patch up a couple of what I'm guessing were knife wounds, a shallow one on his side and one really deep one on his thigh, as well as the hole in his shoulder, and he didn't even flinch. He's got some colorful bruises on his left side, too, but I don't think anything's broken."

After Dean had cleaned Sam up the best he could, he had also managed to get a pair of sweats onto his brother. The least he could do was keep Sam's pride intact. (Hey, what were big brothers for?) Dean had also disposed of the bloody clothing. Sam didn't need those around as a reminder of what had happened. Obviously, the kid was going to have enough problems on his own.

Seeing Sam the way he was and hearing Dean describe his youngest's injuries, not to mention Sam's current mental state, John made the decision to stay the night with his boys. "I'll watch him for now. Go get some sleep, Son." He took his jacket off and tossed it onto a nearby chair. "That's not a request either," he said when Dean didn't move.

"Alright, yeah," Dean replied reluctantly. "Just gonna take the shower first. I'm sure I smell like something someone dredged up from a sewer." He leaned down and picked his clothing duffel up from the floor. Rummaging through it, he found an old pair of blue sweatpants and a well-loved t-shirt. Moments later, the bathroom door closed behind him.

John went over to Sam's bed, moved the plate of pizza over to the nightstand, and then sat down next to his son. Sam didn't stir, even with the shifting of the bed as his father's weight settled onto it. "Sammy," John murmured quietly as he pushed a loose strand of shaggy, brown hair behind Sam's ear. "I told you, it's not your fault. Why do you always have to blame yourself?"

Very rarely did John ever show tenderness to his sons; it was something he regretted not doing since he started hunting, hell even before that to some degree. They deserved so much more than what he had provided to them over the years and Sam had always seemed to go out of his way to remind John of that quite often. It was the basis of most of their fights.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he watched the young man sleep. That demon was going to pay for this. Sam had always been the innocent one. And now look at him…blood on his hands, even if it wasn't his doing. _Dammit!_ His son should be studying for finals, not laying here post-demonic possession, blaming himself for what the evil thing had done while in him. Tomorrow, they would go to Bobby's; they would figure out how to get this demon and send him back where he belonged.

John stood and pulled the gaudy orange and purple comforter up over Sam's shoulders. It was early May, but there was still too much of a chill in the room. Sam shifted then and his eyes opened, just enough to make out the hazel. He looked up at his father, but he said nothing.

"Hey, Sam. It's good to see you." The elder Winchester allowed a smile to drift onto his face. "Dean says you're not doing too well. Why don't you rest up and we'll talk in the morning. Okay?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back the tears that threatened once more, and rolled back over, pulling the blanket up over his head. Eyes open or closed, all he could see was blood and death, and more blood as it washed over his hands.

John watched Sam a moment longer and then looked up when Dean stepped from the bathroom.

"How's he doing?" Dean toweled his hair off some more before tossing the wet cloth onto the bathroom floor.

"He just needs some time, I think. That demon really did a job on him though." He shook his head. "Almost all of the people I've ever seen who were possessed didn't make it, or if they did, it's never been pretty." John walked over to the small table by the window and lifted the cardboard lid to one of the pizza boxes. He pulled a slice out and took a bite before continuing. "Sam's lucky to be alive. You did good, Son, getting him out of there like that."

"Yeah, well…it's what we're trained to do. Right?" Dean hesitated before asking a question that had been on his mind, his father's words having brought it to the forefront again. "Dad, how many demons have you actually dealt with? Possessions?" He was curious. The man never really mentioned demons, even though both Dean and Sam knew that that's what killed their mother.

John's eyes took on a haunted look. "Enough," was his terse answer. He turned away from Dean, quite effectively ending the conversation, and took a seat on the small couch.

Dean didn't bother to pry. He knew he wouldn't get any more information than that.

* * *

Dean awoke to a shake of his foot in the morning. He opened his eyes and then closed them instantly as the morning light streaking through the window blasted into his face. He rolled over and groaned.

"Time to get up. Checkout's in less than an hour."

The younger hunter sat up and pulled his shirt down where it had rucked up overnight. He yawned and dropped his legs over the side of the bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes. It took Dean a minute to get his bearings and then he combed his fingers through his hair, trying to get it to lay down flat. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he saw it was already after ten; checkout was at eleven. He couldn't think of a time when his father had allowed them to sleep past seven. This thing with Sam must have hit the man harder than Dean thought.

Overnight, John and Dean had taken turns keeping an eye on Sam. Dean had slept until one, then took his turn until almost five when his father pushed him back off to bed again. Sam never stirred the entire time, not once. As a matter of fact, when he looked over, his brother was still in his bed, sleeping as if he hadn't slept in months.

"I got you coffee. Breakfast is leftover pizza," John said from the table where he was browsing a newspaper.

Dean forced himself to his feet and took a seat in the hard plastic chair across from his father. John pushed a Styrofoam cup toward him. "Thanks," he said as he took it and peeled back the plastic tab on the lid. "No changes?" Dean tilted his head, gesturing to Sam, before bringing the cup up to his lips.

John looked from Dean to Sam and then back. "I gave him something to help him calm down around nine. Nightmare," he gave Dean as an explanation. "Woke up scared half to death. It'll keep him down for at least another couple of hours."

"You drugged him?" Dean's eyes snapped up at John accusingly.

"He needed it, Dean," John replied flatly before taking another bite out the slice of pizza in his hand.

Dean looked down at the table in front of him, the idea of food forgotten. Instead, he picked at the corner of a section of newspaper that was sitting there. Sam had seemed so _okay_ yesterday. How long was his brother going to be fucked up from this whole thing? It didn't seem like something a person could just get over, especially someone as sensitive as Sam. Dean took a long pull from his coffee before abruptly pushing back his chair and getting up. "I gotta get dressed."

John knew Sam was going to need some downtime. Actually, he was quite surprised Sam sounded so _normal_ on the phone yesterday. And the longer it took Sam to get over this, the worse Dean was going to get, too. The two were too close for it not to affect his elder son. Once they got to Bobby's, they could concentrate on getting Sam back on the road to whatever recovery he needed.

John got up from his chair, folding the newspaper in half and tossing it down on the table. "I'll starting loading up our things. Let me know when you're ready and I'll help get Sam out to the car." Dean needed some time to himself to deal with this; even the eldest Winchester wasn't so hard that he couldn't see that.

* * *

Sam felt sluggish as he opened his eyes. He vaguely recalled taking something his father had offered after waking in a sweat from another nightmare; it had helped him sleep without any further dreams. Now that Sam was awake, the familiar surroundings of the Impala invaded his senses…the thick smell of leather, the low hum of the engine, the quiet creaks as the car rolled down the road. Even Dean's music, which was at a very low volume, gave him a sense of security. He shifted slightly, body cramped in the tight confines of the backseat.

_How long could he just lay here before Dean would know he was awake?_ Sam knew the man had some uncanny way of sensing when he was and was not asleep, probably even after two years of being apart. Sam hoped it would be a little while, at least. He just needed time to get over this; that was all.

The paper-thin wall that Sam had built up in his mind to keep the creeping memories of the demon and what it had done came crashing down last night…hard. After the wall started to crumble, everything else from last night was a blur. He could only remember bits and pieces of Dean getting him into bed and then of his father saying something to him; what it was, he had no idea. A heavy, frustrated breath escaped his lips before he realized it.

"Sam? You awake?" Dean looked over his shoulder into the backseat. He caught a glimpse of hazel. "You hungry?"

"Yeah. No."

"Okay then." Sammy and the one-word answers. Dean had been there before, but usually when Sam was being a bitch about something. Well, at least he was talking now…sort of. It was progress anyway. "You want me to pull over so you can sit up here like a normal person?"

"No." Sam pulled the stolen comforter up over himself even further. That was when he realized he was dressed. If Sam remembered correctly, he had been unclothed when he had his meltdown. This time a groan came out. _How friggin' embarrassing._ He didn't even have his damn dignity. Sam wondered if it had been Dean or his dad who dressed him. If he knew Dean, it had been his brother. It was better than his dad, he guessed.

"Y'okay back there?" Concern was seeping into Dean's tone.

"No…yeah."

"Well, dude, which is it?" Now he was getting aggravated.

"Dean…just… M'fine." The last two words were muffled as Sam pulled the blanket over his head, shutting the afternoon sun out, shutting Dean out.

"Sure you are, Sam," Dean said quietly. He looked ahead of him at his father's truck a half dozen car lengths in front of him. This was going to be a long ride. They still had at least three hours ahead of them. Well, Sammy was gonna have to get up at some point. Dean wasn't going to let him sulk forever.

* * *

After the third hour of driving, Dean followed John off an exit for Chamberlain, South Dakota. Ten minutes of annoying stop-and-go traffic on back roads later, they were pulling into the parking lot of a small diner. Both car and truck parked at the rear of the lot, away from any traffic. John got out of his vehicle and came around to the Impala's driver's side window. Dean rolled it down and squinted up at his dad, the afternoon sun at his father's back making it hard to see the man.

John leaned down and rested his arms on the door, looking in at his boys. "Any change?"

"He's grumpy, said something like three words. Other than that, no. He's just been hiding under that damn blanket the whole ride."

"See if you can work on getting him up. He needs to eat. He also needs to get some fluids in him."

_Easier said than done_, Dean thought. "I might have an easier time proving the world's flat, but I'll give it a go."

There was movement from the backseat and both men looked to see Sam staring at them, or rather through them. His normally overly expressive green, brown, and gold-flecked eyes were void of any emotion. That he had said anything at all earlier should be counted as a miracle. The young man who lay there was so what?…lost?…broken? If Dean didn't know better, he would think he had imagined Sam's few moments of clarity earlier (if you could even call it that). Sam seemed to be shutting down more and more as the minutes ticked by.

Dean swallowed, heartbroken (for Sam) and angry (at the demon). He had to force himself to look back at his father. "Get the food. I'll work on him."

John clenched his jaw and nodded. If anyone could pull Sam out of this emotional trauma, Dean could…he hoped.

Dean got out of the car as John walked off toward the entrance of the diner. He went to the rear passenger side door and opened it, lifted Sam up and slid in behind him. Once he was settled in (and it was a tight fit), Dean reached over and closed the door.

He didn't say anything at first; he just held Sam close, trying to comfort him. His brother had always responded well to touch during times of distress when they were younger and Dean hoped it would work this time as well.

"Remember when you were ten or eleven," Dean said quietly after a few minutes, "and Dad insisted that you come with us to hunt that nasty thing that was eating people? For some reason, he thought you were old enough... But anyway, it took a bite outta you, thinking you were gonna be its next meal," Dean slid his right hand up to Sam's shoulder where he knew there was a jagged scar hiding beneath the thin cotton, "and you freaked out, shut down, sorta like this. For days you wouldn't talk. I guess maybe you felt safer inside your head or something. Scared me, you know? I thought I lost you.

"Dad couldn't stick around; like he always did, he had some other hunt he had to get to. He left me to take care of you, saying you'd be fine given time. Almost a week went by with no change, but one night you decided to climb into my bed and pulled my arm around you like it was a damn security blanket." Dean smiled at the memory. "A couple of nights like that and you started to come around. I can't give you the same thing now, but you've still got me." Dean gave Sam a reassuring squeeze. "Sam, don't disappear on me again like that. I need you."

He looked down at Sam. His brother's eyes slowly turned toward him; a stray tear leaked down the young man's cheek and he blinked.

"I know what happened was bad, Sam, but you gotta come outta there so I can help you. I want you to know I'm still that place you can go when you need it." Dean rubbed Sam's arm, providing more touch. "It's not gonna get back in you. Dad and I will take care of it."

Sam shifted. His right hand moved out from under the blanket and rested at his side, palm-side up. Dean took it as an invitation and reached over. He awkwardly threaded his fingers through his brother's and rubbed his thumb over the smooth skin. Yeah, maybe they were too old for this shit, but when were the Winchesters ever normal?

"Even though you're not hunting anymore, I will always be here for you. Don't you ever forget that." Dean gave Sam a moment to absorb his words and then continued. "You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened, Sam. It _wasn't _your fault and I know you know that deep down. You don't have a bad bone in your body. Everyone who knows you knows that."

Dean reached up and pushed Sam's bangs out of his face with his free hand and then thumbed the moisture from his brother's cheeks. After, he slid his palm down over Sam's heart, feeling the steady beat. "This is you, Sam…in here. You are _not_ that damn demon." Dean growled the last word. He was going to find that evil piece of shit and deep fry it for doing this to Sam.

Unexpectedly, Sam sat up and turned around (he moved too quickly for Dean to see how he actually managed the act). He wrapped his long arms around Dean, practically cutting off his air, he was holding him so tightly. The elder Winchester was stunned for a moment, but then encircled his arms around his brother, one hand palming the back of Sam's head and the other rubbing soothing circles on his lower back.

"Dean." The word came out on a sob and Sam's body shook in Dean's arms.

"Shhh," Dean whispered, continuing his calming touches. "I got you. Just don't leave me. Okay? _We _will get through this." Dean stayed in Sam's arms until his brother pulled away on his own.

Sam wiped his tear-streaked face with the backs of his hands. When he finally looked up at Dean, he said, "I'm sorry." The words came out so quiet, they were barely there.

Dean gave a slight frown. "No apologies, Sammy. You didn't do anything wrong." He patted Sam's shoulder and glanced out the window behind Sam. John was just coming out of the diner, several bags in his hands. "Look, you think you can eat, even if it's just a little? I'll keep Dad away for now, give you some more time." Dean made to get out of the car, but stopped and looked back at Sam. "You wanna ride up front?"

Sam shook his head "no". "I'll eat, but I just think I'm gonna sleep after, if that's okay with you."

"Sure, Sam. Whatever you need. Just don't go 'away' again." Dean smiled and then got out, closing the door gently behind him. He rounded the car to meet their dad as he approached.

* * *

Sam closed his eyes. He could do this, if not for himself, then at least for Dean. Dean said it wasn't his fault, but it was so confusing. It _was_ his fault, in some respect, that those people had died. Six…the number was seared into his brain as much as the brand that was on his side. He should have been able to stop it all from happening, should have been able to stop the demon.

Flashes of the young girl flooded his mind's eye suddenly. Sam groaned and pushed the heels of his palms into his closed eyelids, trying to make the horrid images go away. He had to stop thinking about it before he went nuts. Actually, he had already gone nuts. Sam had that road covered pretty well already.

He lay back down. Dean was still talking to their dad outside the car, possibly stalling a little to give him some extra time. Sam was sure they were discussing him. A few minutes later, the front door opened and Sam felt the car dip as Dean slid in.

"I don't know what you feel you can eat, but Dad got you a grilled chicken sandwich. He figured that would be easier than eating one of your pansy-assed salads in the car." Dean reached over the seat and held the wrapped sandwich out to Sam.

Sam's stomach growled at the smell of hot food. He sat up and took the sandwich from his brother, barely getting the wrapper off before he was taking the first bite. He glanced up and saw Dean staring at him.

"Hungry?" Dean waggled an eyebrow teasingly at Sam. "At least you still have an appetite. And don't forget your water." He passed a cup back with a straw already in place. "There's plenty more food up here if you still want something after that."

Sam nodded in acknowledgement as he chewed.

"Alright, then." Dean pulled a bacon cheeseburger from the bag and unwrapped half of it, taking a bite and closing his eyes, savoring the greasy goodness of it. A happy moan, very nearly sensual in nature, escaped from his lips. "God, it's been so long since I've had something decent to eat." He reached into the bag and pulled a few fries out, stuffing them into his mouth.

As Dean chewed, he reached over and started the car. "Well, we've got two more hours to Bobby's then you can have all the time you need to work through this." He looked back at Sam who was working on the last couple of bites of his sandwich. "Holy shit, Sam. Slow down. I don't need you upchucking bird all over the upholstery." But as he said this, Dean reached into the bag and pulled another sandwich out, handing it over the seat to Sam who eagerly took it. "Make that one last," he said with a laugh as he shifted the car into drive and followed John out onto the road.

* * *

Sam crashed in the warm cocoon of his blanket not long after eating, stomach full and feeling satiated for the first time in days. Dean knew his brother had fallen asleep when he heard soft snores coming from the backseat. That demon really had taken a lot out of the kid.

They had about a half hour of driving left, but Dean had to make a pit stop. He forgot to take a leak back at the diner because he was busy trying to get Sam out of his funk and now he had to go. There was no way he was going to last the rest of the way. Dean flashed his high beams at John signaling for the man to pull off at the next exit.

John got off the highway and pulled into the lot of a small coffee shop. He rolled his window down as Dean got out.

"Everything alright?"

"Just gotta hit the head is all." Dean opened the rear door of the Impala. "I'm gonna make Sam get up and go, too." He reached in and gently shook his brother until he stirred.

"If you think you two are okay, I'm gonna go on and head out. If we're hunting this demon, there's a few things I want to pick up before I get to Bobby's."

Dean looked around the parking lot then back at his Dad. "Yeah, I think we're good. I'll see you when we get there then."

John nodded. "Just watch your back. There's a good chance that thing's looking for your brother. Keep him in sight."

The old GMC truck pulled out onto the road and roared off, leaving the two younger Winchesters to fend for themselves.

When Dean turned around, Sam was sitting on the edge of the seat, socked feet on the ground.

"Shoes?" Sam lifted an eyebrow in question at Dean.

"Oh…yeah, hang on." Dean went around to the trunk and popped it open. Two seconds later, he handed Sam's sneakers to him. "I need a bathroom break and you need to come with."

"If I didn't have to go so bad myself, I'd put up more of a fight because that's just…" Sam crunched his face up in mock disgust.

Dean smirked. Yeah, Sam was going to be okay.

* * *

After washing up and just barely avoiding being smacked upside the head (Dean had decided to use Sam as a towel and flicked his wet hands at him), Dean suggested coffee.

"Yeah, I could use a little pick-me-up. Just black though." Even after the little bit of goofing off at the sinks, Sam was still quiet and subdued.

Sam's answer caused Dean to look at him like he had said he was heading off for a night of casual sex (which Dean knew would never happen, not in this lifetime anyway…freaky little monk of a brother. If he didn't know they were related…).

"What?" the younger Winchester asked.

"Black? What about all those sissy drinks? You know, the ones with double squirt of this, a triple shot of that…oh, and don't forget the sprinkles and whipped cream. That."

Sam just shook his head. "Just black, Dean. I'm gonna wait by the car."

"No," came the sudden and clipped reply.

Sam stopped mid-step, otherwise he would have walked straight into his brother who had come to an immediate halt and turned around. He understood where Dean was coming from, and yeah, he was scared shitless that something could happen, but that was just victim paranoia. The chances were next to null that something was going to happen in the five minutes it would take Dean to get the coffees and get back out to the Impala.

"Dean, I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter."

"No." Dean held his ground and narrowed his eyes at his stubborn brother. Just a couple of hours ago, Sam practically belonged in a loony bin.

"You can't-"

"Yes, I fucking can, Sam." The words were firm…final.

But that didn't stop Sam; it never did. "Get the damn coffee, Dean, and I'll meet you in the car." Sam pushed past his brother and Dean, not wanting to make a scene, let him go.

"Bitch," Dean mumbled.

_Really, what could happen in five minutes?_

Dean should have known better. Sam, too, for that matter.

* * *

Dean kept his eyes locked on Sam while he stood in line. He should have just said to hell with the coffee and left, but he swallowed the bitter pill and went ahead with getting it. Sam was right; he didn't need a babysitter. It was a public place after all and it was broad daylight.

Sam was leaning against the passenger side of the car, head tilted up, soaking in the late afternoon sun. It probably wasn't the worst thing for his brother to be doing, seeing that he'd been cooped up for so long.

"Sir?"

Dean was jolted from his watch by the girl at the counter. He glanced over his shoulder and the people in line behind him were looking a little hot with impatience. He must have zoned out. "Oh, sorry." The hunter moved up to the counter. "Two large coffees. Black, please."

The girl looked out the window to see what had held Dean's attention while she went about fixing the drinks.

"Boyfriend trouble?" the young woman asked with a wink.

He almost burst out laughing. "Him?" Dean glanced back out the window. "Nah, he's my brother. He's just having a rough day, not feeling well."

"Oh, my God." She blushed. "It's just these days…and you looked…" The girl stopped before she could humiliate herself even further. She put the two cups on the counter, but unfortunately, in her state of mortified embarrassment, her grip slipped on one of them and sent it sailing right into Dean's chest, dumping hot coffee down his front.

Dean kept his cool (_as he fucking burned to death!). _He didn't yell; he didn't scream. He just stood there, clenching his jaw so tightly it hurt, and looked down at his sopping wet shirt front and jeans, coffee dripping down onto his work boots.

The poor girl was around the counter with a towel in a heartbeat. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened." She practically cried as she tried to mop Dean off.

_So much for a quick in-and-out._ Dean sighed and took the towel from the girl.

* * *

Cal had been sweeping the various routes between Lander and Sioux Falls for hours, watching for any sign of the hunters. He knew the Winchesters would eventually come through on their trek to Bobby's, their closest and most obvious destination.

It was almost too easy when he came across Sam standing out in the open like he was. For a hunter, the youngest Winchester made such an easy target.

* * *

The events inside the coffee shop went unnoticed by Sam. He was too busy enjoying the heat of the sun on his face, head tilted up, eyes closed. Ever since the first time the demon possessed him, Sam couldn't shake the permanent chill that had settled into his bones. The warmth was refreshing after everything that had happened. He almost felt sane again.

Suddenly, that heat turned cold, bitter cold. The feeling struck like lightning into his very soul. Sam instantly felt himself shoved so far down that he almost forgot who he was. Pure evil embraced him once more.

_"I told you, Sam. You're mine. No one else's. Not Dean's, not your father's. Mine. I own you. And you're soon going to learn how much you have pissed me off."_

An evil laugh resounded in Sam's head.

_"Dean!"_ Sam tried calling out.

Cal strangled off his internal cries and Sam fell further into nothingness, the darkness claiming him once again.


	7. Chapter 7

~~ Author's Note: I just want to thank Souless666 for a little inspiration on this chapter! ~~

* * *

Dean handed the soiled towel back to the girl after mopping up as much coffee from his clothing as he could, which wasn't much.

"Coffees on the house?" she offered meekly as she took the dirtied bar mop back from him.

The girl's words became a distant buzz in the background as his heart almost stopped in his chest. Over her shoulder, Dean could clearly see Sam out the window. He also saw the last wisp of black smoke pouring its way into Sam's mouth. Another worker was now helping the other customers in line; no one else appeared to have seen it, only him.

His first instinct was to run out the door and confront the demon, but he held himself back knowing that the piece of shit son of a bitch would kick his ass in an instant, or worse yet, kill him. For the moment, his safest bet was to act like nothing had happened, that he was completely unaware of the demon, and continue with their drive to Bobby's. At least he'd have a little back-up _if_ he made it there.

Dean was startled when the young woman appeared back at his side and pushed two newly made coffees toward him.

"Here. It's the least I can do for you." She glanced out the window at Sam as he accepted the peace offering from her. "I hope your brother feels better soon."

"Oh, uh, thanks." Dean took the coffees barely acknowledging her as he turned and pushed through the glass door, heading back into the parking lot.

The demon turned less than friendly eyes toward the hunter when he heard him approaching.

"Sorry for the wait," Dean said. "Had a little accident inside." He spread his arms and showed Sam (the demon) his stained shirt and jeans as he approached him, and by doing so, revealed that he was unarmed. Dean hoped that by making that fact obvious, the demon would be less inclined to do something drastic, like kill him on the spot. "But got your coffee, just the way you wanted it. Black," he continued under the pretense of ignorance.

The demon fully turned around to face Dean now and a crooked smile spread across his face. "I bet that burned like a bitch," he said non-sympathetically as he took the coffee from Dean.

"Sure as hell did." Dean set his cup on the roof of the car and went to the trunk to retrieve a fresh shirt. "Just give me a sec to change outta this shirt." He pulled the soiled t-shirt over his head, tossing it into the trunk, and tugged a fresh one out of his bag.

After donning the new shirt, Dean took his jacket out as well and slipped into it. It wouldn't hurt to have a few _special_ items within reach should the demon try anything. He noticed the creature watching his every move at the trunk from the corner of his eye, so he'd have to make do with what he already had stashed in the interior pockets lining his jacket: a bottle of holy water, rosary beads, and a pair of iron cuffs that his father had given to him earlier; it was everything he had taken with him to the warehouse in Grants Pass aside from his Colt which was already safely tucked under the driver's seat (still with iron rounds in it). Dean didn't want to have to use that unless he was out of all other options. Shooting Sammy wasn't something he wanted to do.

"A little warm for a jacket don't you think?" the demon asked suspiciously.

"You know me, always a little cold." Dean replied with a tight smile as he closed the trunk lid and took his coffee from the roof. "You ready?"

"More than you know."

It was hardly noticeable, but Dean saw the quick flash of black in his brother's eyes. It caused a shiver to run down his spine.

* * *

Dean white-knuckled the steering wheel until his fingers hurt; his back ached because he was so tense and his teeth felt like they were going to shatter because his jaw was clenched so tight. It was certainly turning out to be the longest fucking ride he had ever made in his entire life. After every mile they put under them, Dean had to stem the urge to pull over and do something reckless. He wasn't sure what, but it was killing him that Sam was sitting two feet away from him suffering under the demon's control.

They had less than ten miles to go when the demon looked over at Dean and said, "Pull over." They were the first words Dean heard since leaving the coffee shop.

"Why would I do that, Sam? We're almost there."

"I just need you to pull over, Dean."

Dean glanced over at his brother, or rather the demon, and said, "Not now." _What was the demon up to? _He looked back at the road again. "Take a pill, Sam. It's just a few more miles. You know that."

They were on a quiet stretch of narrow back road now, trees lining the smooth blacktop on either side. The highway had been clogged with traffic due to construction or Dean would have never gotten off on such a desolate roadway. Roughly eight more miles, that's all he needed. Shit. He increased the speed of the car. If he could only stall and get a few more miles behind them…

And stall is what happened, just not the kind Dean wanted. "Awesome," the hunter mumbled. He let the now silent car coast to the side of the road and shifted into park. Baby didn't respond when he turned the key. "Come on," Dean groaned. He then looked over at his passenger with expectation.

"Enough of this game, Dean. I'm not stupid. I know you know." Black eyes flooded over hazel and the demon shifted in the seat, putting his back to the door; so Sammy-like, but not.

Dean's hand immediately went to his jacket, the holy water just inches from his fingertips.

"No, Dean. You try anything, _anything at all_," the demon growled, "I will hurt him. Don't test me."

Suddenly, the music for Smoke on the Water sounded from Dean's cell phone, cutting into the thick tension.

Dean just sat there, feeling the vibration of the device in his jeans pocket. _What a great time for his dad to be calling_. After the fourth ring, the call went to his voicemail. He didn't say anything, but a moment later, the ringtone started up again.

"Answer it. And Dean, you're gonna have to get creative." The demon grinned, letting the unspoken threat hang.

Lifting his hips from the seat, Dean dug down into his pocket and pulled his phone out. He quickly answered it before the voicemail picked up again. "Hey, Dad." The young hunter watched the demon as he spoke.

"Did you get lost? Where the hell are you?" John inquired. Dean was overdue by almost twenty minutes.

"Sorry. I should have called. Traffic. Damn construction, you know," Dean let the lie flow smoothly from his lips.

"You should've gotten off just outside of Hartford and came in the back way," the elder huffed in annoyance. "How's your brother holding up?"

Dean eyed the demon again. "I think he's as good as he'd gonna get for now."

"Alright. But it's gonna be slow going on that highway. Bobby says they're re-building some bridge out that way and there's only one lane open. You're gonna be stuck out there for a while."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Look, I gotta go. I'll see you soon."

Dean ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket when he was done.

"That's a good boy, Dean. I'm proud of you. You lie so well." Cal eyed the young man a moment longer, just enough to make the hunter squirm. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Now that we've gotten you to _pull over_, get out."

Dean let out a deep breath and gave Cal a look; more than a little stark insolence shown in it. He didn't want to piss the demon off…not too much anyway. There wasn't enough room in the Impala to put up much of a fight. Plus he'd really rather not mess up the interior of the car if he didn't have to.

"And leave the keys, too," Cal said when he saw the hunter reach up for them.

"Like hell I will!" Dean took the keys anyway and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. He turned toward Cal and threw his right arm up over the seat as he glared at him boldly. "You're _not _taking my car."

Cal only tilted his head and grinned somewhat ominously. He smoothed a hand along the Impala's dash, eying the hunter as he did so. "When I'm done with you, you're going to have more to worry about than your precious car. Trust me. If you don't want to give them to me, I'll just have to remove them from your withering corpse. It doesn't matter to me one way or the other. So…let me repeat myself. Get out of the car."

"No." It would be a cold day in Hell before Dean took orders from a demon.

Patience lost, Cal waved his hand and threw Dean up against the interior of the driver's side door, applying a little extra pressure just to remind the hunter that _he _was the one in control here. It seemed like Dean needed that reminder.

When the man started gasping for air, Cal let up slightly, not wanting to kill him just yet. "Do you not remember that I can snap your little neck," he snapped his fingers, "just like that?" The demon smiled as Dean flinched at the gesture.

Dean felt more pressure around his neck and tried to reach up to get some kind of relief, but there was no fighting against the demonic hold. He was at the demon's mercy.

"I thought hunters were supposed to be smart," Cal continued. "So far you haven't quite lived up to my expectations."

"Screw you." Dean choked out defiantly as he struggled to breathe.

Dean suddenly felt the door open up behind him and then he was bodily thrown out of his seat onto the asphalt just outside. He skidded on his ass. Fortunately, nothing was hurt more than his pride. He lay there for a second as he sucked oxygen back into his lungs greedily.

"You know, maybe if you had asked a little nicer…" Dean slowly got up from the ground and stooped to wipe the dirt from his jeans. He used the motion as a cover while he slipped a hand inside his jacket and palmed the small bottle of holy water. When Dean stood up and turned, he winced when he came nose to chin with his brother's form. (Damn, the demon moved fast.) He tightened his grip on the bottle, hoping it hadn't seen what he had done.

At the same time, an old tow truck flew by, blaring its horn. It was the first car to pass by since they pulled off the road. Dean felt the gust from it at his back, just a little too close for comfort. Good thing for the driver he didn't stop to check on them. The man probably wouldn't have lasted more than two minutes.

Dean took a few steps back toward the front of the car, trying to put some distance between himself and the demon.

"I've been nice to you so far," Cal whispered dangerously as he began to corral Dean back up against the car, "but I'm starting to get tired of this seditious attitude of yours."

"Nice? Dude, you just threw my ass out of the fucking car! If you wanted to be BFFs, you should have just said something." Dean kept his hand tucked around his side, hiding the canteen.

"Don't get smart with me, hunter." Cal pressed closer to the hunter.

"You know, the offer still stands. You can just do whatever it is you do," Dean waved his left hand around in the air, "go all up and Wicked Witch of the West it outta here. If we keep standing around chatting like best buds, someone may just drop a house on you."

Without warning, the demon grabbed Dean by the collar and slammed him up against the side of the car, pushing him down over the hood. Dean grunted as his head impacted solidly on the metal surface. It took the hunter just a fraction of a second to get his wits about him and he swung around, dousing Cal with the holy water.

The demon's skin steamed under the assault and he screamed, flailing and wiping at his face.

Dean quickly got his feet under him when Cal released his grip. "Sorry, Sammy," he said under his breath as he landed a punch into the demon's face and then kicked his feet out from under him, causing the demon to fall to the ground.

"You'll die for this, hunter!" Cal snarled as he tried to push up onto his hands and knees, but he didn't get far. _Damn holy water. _That shit did more than burn.

"Oh, really? 'Cause you see, it doesn't look like you're in a position to be making threats right now."

Dean emptied the last of the holy water on the demon and tossed the bottle aside. He pushed the creature down to the ground and held him there with a knee pressed into the small of its back. Reaching up to twist one of its arms around, he snapped a cuff around its wrist. The demon snarled and fought, but Dean managed to grab hold of its other arm as well and bound it tightly.

"Let's see you get out of that, asshole." Dean felt bad when he looked down and saw the metal was burning red rings into his brother's wrists. It only added to the fire in his eyes as he yanked the demon upright.

Cal spit a mouthful of blood at him. "You dirty hunter! You'll get your due…if not from me, then another one of my kind will do it. And you know what? Your brother here, he's not as innocent as you'd like to think he is."

"Cal – that is your name, right? – First off, would you please quit it with the threats. They're starting to give me a headache. Second, a little Irish Spring and I'm set to go. You though? You're Hell's filth, so you shouldn't be talking. The last I heard, you can't wash that off. And third, the only thing Sam might be guilty of is getting to class late because he forgot a damn pencil." Dean stood there for a moment scowling at the demon. It didn't even occur to him that there might be any inkling of truth to what the thing was implying about his brother.

For once, Dean was happy they were on this back stretch of wooded road; he didn't have to worry about any witnesses. Most that might drive by were more than likely to be the type that would just keep going, just like the tow truck had. Out here in these parts, people minded their own business; that's why Bobby liked it so much.

"Now, Cal," he said the name as if it caused a sour taste in his mouth, "you have two options. Either get the hell outta my brother or…get the hell outta my brother."

Cal's black eyes stared up at Dean with loathing. "Hmm… I don't think I really like either of those options. Your brother is mine. Or did you forget that?"

"See now, that's where I think you're wrong." Dean reached into his pocket, pulling the keys out, and then walked around to the trunk, opening it. "I have a few things in here that say otherwise." Dean pulled out a canister of salt.

"Now," Dean started pouring a salt ring around the demon (it would at least help keep the demon in place for now), "we can either do this the easy way," he lifted an eyebrow as he spoke, "or we can do this the hard way. Your choice." The hunter screwed the cap back on the can and tossed it into the trunk.

"You can't make me leave. He's marked. We are bound together and there's nothing you can do. No exorcism can force me out." The demon smiled as he shifted and sat up on his knees, twisting his hands in the tight cuffs.

"Oh, that little thing you branded into my brother? Well, now... I've been giving that some thought." Dean squatted down and lifted the side of Sam's shirt up. He studied the brand. It was just as he thought; Cal had changed the mark, locking himself into Sam once more.

While stitching up his brother's side back at the motel, Dean had picked up on the fact that the brand was different from when he had first seen it at the warehouse. He saw that the circle was incomplete and it had given him something to ponder over.

Dean reached into the trunk again and pulled out a small knife. He then took his lighter out of his jacket pocket and flicked it open. "Now," he said as he lit it and began to run the flame up and down the length of the knife, "I think if I heat this up just so," he held the blade up in front of Cal's dark eyes as he did, "I might just be able to break this little seal of yours. And oops, would you look at that? I can evict your sorry ass. What do you think? Am I right?" He smiled, seeing the apprehension on the demon's face.

Cal struggled in the cuffs and gave Dean a look that could almost kill. "Don't you wanna know about your Sammy? The things he's capable of?"

Dean looked up from the heated knife, his own eyes dark. "Cut the shit, Cal. I raised the kid since he was six months old. I know everything there is to know about him."

In one swift movement, the hunter lifted Sam's shirt again and pressed the red hot blade against his brother's side. He cringed as he did so, smelling the burning flesh. The demon (or was it Sam?) screamed and tried to twist away from it. _I'm so sorry, Sammy. It's the only way_.

As soon as he pulled the knife away, Dean started to recite the old, Latin exorcism ritual that John had drilled into him since he was eight. It was the same one Lee had tried using only days ago. All hunters knew it by heart. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica-"

The demon looked at Dean and snarled. "You might get rid of me today, but I'll be back. I'll make you pay for-" He began to tremble violently as the detested words continued to pour out of the hunter's mouth.

Dean stumbled in his recitation when it looked like Sam was in pain. _This better work, _he thought to himself. _Hang on, Sammy…just a little longer._

He started up again. "Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam-"

The soft breeze sweeping through Dean's short hair picked up all of a sudden in a whirlwind and he looked around. He'd never personally done an exorcism, or witnessed one for that matter, and didn't really know what to expect. The hunter glanced back at the demon whose smile was beginning to waver. It looked like it was working though.

It took Dean a second to remember where he was and he picked where he left off; he was almost there. "secure tibi facias libertate servire, te-"

* * *

Cal sneered at the hunter. He had accepted that he had probably gotten just a little over his head with this one. _Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted, _he thought to himself as he felt his essence slowly being pulled out of Sam's body. It wasn't his first trip to Hell and it certainly wouldn't be his last.

The demon's smile faltered all of a sudden. A familiar something…or rather someone was closing in on them. It only took Cal a moment to realize who it was. _No! It couldn't be…_ The demon started to struggle, pulling at the iron cuffs that held him prisoner. He had to get away. He'd get through the salt line somehow.

Looking up in absolute terror, Cal saw _him_. The demon dropped his eyes and looked at Dean in his frenzy. The hunter hadn't seen _him_ yet. Hell would be a much better place than this, than death at _his _hand. But it was too late; his master was coming for him.

Cal made a weak attempt at fleeing, but didn't make it too far beyond the young Winchester's lips before the other demon grabbed hold of him and forced Cal back into Sam's body, following closely on his heels.

* * *

Cal started to move frantically in his bonds and was looking skyward, ignoring Dean and the exorcism falling from the hunter's lips.

Dean suddenly found himself enveloped in the strong stench of sulfur and ozone and looked up to see what the demon was freaking out about. "Holy shit!" He stumbled backward into the road, the exorcism all but forgotten.

Another black cloud, very threatening in nature, was spiraling overhead, looking much of what Dean thought a black hole might look like; its dark, churning mass spanned the entire width of the road. Dean took a chance and glanced at Cal again. The demon was starting to flee Sam all on its own, but it couldn't go far, not with the iron cuffs holding it in place and the salt ring around it.

_What the hell was going on? Was that another goddamn demon?_ Dean had yet to see one up close and personal in its truest form. His first startled thought as he was putting two and two together was that the latest arrival was going to attempt to possess him.

Before Dean could think of reacting, the sinister cloud darted downward, heading directly toward them. The elder Winchester instinctively crouched and put his arm up to protect himself (as if that would really stop it, but it was all Dean had), but this new demon didn't bother with the hunter. Instead, it latched onto Cal's escaping form and pushed him back down Sam's throat, following close after.

For a split second, Dean thought he saw a flash of yellow in his brother's wide eyes before they closed.

* * *

"Cal," the older demon growled threateningly, "Sam Winchester is, and always has been, off limits. You know that." The words came out in a menacing hiss. "He is one of my _mine. _You did not have my permission to touch him."

The voice terrified Cal. "Sir, I'm sorry! It was a mistake. I-" He backed away into the depths of the hunter's mind, trying to hide. It was no use. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, not from his master.

Cal's words were choked off and he screamed as Azazel began to tear at him. "You were going to kill him." The voice resonated deep within Sam's entire body.

"No!" Cal tried to pull away from his master's tight grip, but the effort was fruitless. "I didn't mean it…wasn't really-." His pleas were cut short as he felt himself being ripped apart…shredded. _Oh, Lucifer, the pain…!_ He had never felt anything like it.

* * *

It all happened so fast. Dean could only watch as Sam's body writhed and screamed on the hard blacktop. _Jesus Christ! What the fuck was going on?_ He was afraid to get any closer as he watched his brother's form twist and seize up, back arching painfully off the ground.

Dean cringed when he heard the younger Winchester's head crack back against the asphalt. That particular sound jarred him into action. He scurried over to Sam and tried keep him from bashing his brains out; it was no small effort to do so.

When he pulled Sam up into his lap (or at least as much as he could amidst the flailing), Dean felt warmth on his hands. _Sammy! Jesus… _ Blood was flowing freely from a wound on the back of Sam's head as well as from his mouth and nose.

Dean gripped his brother tighter, trying to keep Sam from bucking out of his grasp. "Sam… Sammy, hold on." Tears pricked at Dean's eyes, but he didn't bother to try to wipe them away. It was taking all he had to keep his brother in his lap.

Another car whooshed by, not bothering to stop. Hell, it didn't even slow down. The older hunter ignored it as he held Sam and hoped whatever was happening would end soon. Two demons… Goddamn _two_ demons were inside Sam. And from the looks of things, they were having World War III within the confines of his little brother's body. How could anyone be expected to survive something like this?

Why was it always Sam who got the shit end of the deal? Dean would've taken his brother's place in a heartbeat. It was like the younger Winchester was put on this Earth to suffer. Even when they were kids, Dean would stub his toe and Sam would _break_ his. Shit, he'd break his whole freakin' foot.

Dean had had enough. "Get out of him, you bastards!" he yelled. "Take your shit somewhere else! He doesn't deserve this." The last four words were said quietly in between near sobs. Dean held Sam close and began to whisper a prayer to someone above to make this come to an end.

Just when Dean thought it was never going to stop, Sam tensed up once more and he screamed. Suddenly his body was wrenched from Dean's grasp by some unseen power and the elder hunter was thrown backward, landing awkwardly on his arm. A bone cracked and a sharp pain shot up through his shoulder. He cried out in agony as he rolled across the ground.

When he was finally able to make sense of where up and down were, Dean looked over to see what was going on and, to his surprise, he saw Sam standing there. His brother walked over to him as he still helplessly lay there in the middle of the road and peered down at him. Sam looked perfectly normal, except for the strange yellow eyes.

"Calloway always was a rotten apple," it said more to itself than Dean. The demon tilted its head and continued to study the hunter who was lying on the ground at its feet, almost as if it was sizing him up. "Keep an eye on my boy, Dean-o. You look like you're more than capable of it." A wicked and bloody smile plastered itself on Sam's face just before his head fell back and the demon made its exit.

Sam's limp body collapsed to the pavement. Dean forced himself to get up and knelt by his unconscious brother. "Sammy? Hey, you okay?" He went to lift Sam up into a sitting position before he realized he was doing so with his newly broken arm. "Son of a bitch!" Dean hissed.

The hunter re-positioned himself and opted, instead, to rest Sam's head on his thigh as he sat there on the roadside. His brother was breathing; it was the best he could hope for right now. Sam's mental state after what had just happened was anyone's guess.

Dean sat there for a while, giving himself time to catch his breath and get himself focused. Sweat rolled down from his brow and fell from the tip of his nose; his t-shirt was now clinging to his sweat-soaked back under his jacket. He didn't realize how hot it had gotten outside since earlier.

"Sammy? C'mon. You gotta wake up." The elder Winchester reached over and smoothed his fingers over his brother's forehead and down the side of his stubbled cheek. Sam didn't respond. Dean wasn't sure what else he expected after what his brother just went through.

Shifting carefully, Dean rolled Sam onto his side. (It wasn't an easy task with a mangled arm, but he managed). He un-cuffed his brother and then laid him back down on the ground, moving him as close to the Impala as he could.

Dean hefted himself up and opened the back door to the car. Reaching in, he tossed the bulky comforter up over the seat to make room for his brother. When he was done, he turned back to Sam. The young man still hadn't stirred. _Time for the fun part._

It took everything the hunter had to lift Sam up from the ground with his single good arm. "Sammy, you really need to go on a diet, Dude," Dean mumbled out between clenched teeth as he struggled to drag Sam over to the open door.

It wasn't a smooth transition by any means, but after a few minutes, he got his brother into the car. Halfway in, Dean lost his grip on Sam and practically screamed when he bumped his bad arm into the doorframe. This was, by far, not an easy task, not with Gigantor for a little brother. Finally, with Sam folded up just enough to squeeze his long-assed body into the backseat, Dean pushed the door closed.

Leaning up against the car, Dean let out a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his brow. He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed his father. The man needed to know what happened.

"Dean?"

"Yeah." The word came out more ragged than Dean intended it.

"Y'okay? You sound like shit, Son."

"Yeah, I'm…fine." Dean squinted up at the blue sky above; there wasn't a cloud to be seen…black or white. A bird flew overhead completely unaware of the hell Dean just witnessed.

"Dean, what's going on?" John could tell immediately something was wrong. Dean didn't sound like his usual sarcastic and spirited self.

"I…I don't really know what happened." The adrenaline rush of the last twenty minutes or so was dying down and Dean was crashing quickly. "It got back into Sam…"

John closed his eyes and pressed his thumb and forefinger into his closed eyelids. The bastard had gotten his son again. "Where's your brother now? What happened?"

"Sam's in the backseat. The demon's gone. I think it's dead."

John didn't know how to respond to that. How in the world did Dean _kill_ the damn thing? Exorcising demons only sent them back to Hell.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Is he alright?"

"He hasn't woken up, so I can't really say. – Another one came outta nowhere, Dad. It shoved itself down into Sam… Goddammit, it was like the two of them had some kind of fight inside him. It was…" Dean was at a loss for what he'd witnessed. He took a second to wipe the tears he swore he wasn't crying off his face with the back of his good hand; his left arm was held protectively up against his chest. He was quiet, trying to come to terms with what he had seen.

"Dean? What is it, Son?"

"The other demon… Dad, when it was done, it said 'keep an eye on my boy'. What the hell's that supposed to mean? Jesus. It sounded like the thing _knew_ Sam. You have any idea what's going on?"

There was no answer. John groaned inwardly. He hadn't wanted to believe the rumors he'd heard about the special children, children like Sam, but it was starting to sound as if there was some truth to them. Not too long ago, the eldest Winchester found out what had happened the night Mary died. He hoped he had come to the wrong conclusions about everything, but he knew he was only lying to himself. Was it all coming to a head now?

"Dad, answer me. If you know something-"

"No, Dean." He couldn't tell Dean. John didn't want his eldest involved in this. There might still be time for him to fix this, reverse things somehow…kill the demon. It was a father's duty to protect his children and this demon was too dangerous. "I don't know what it means. Did it say anything else?"

Dean didn't like the hesitation in his father's voice, but he'd let it go for now. "No, nothing. It just up and left."

"Where are you now?"

"We're about eight miles west on Evans."

"Okay. Just get your asses here as soon as you can. – And Dean?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Are you really alright? Do you need me to come get you?" John could hear the strain in the younger man's voice. Something more was wrong than Dean was admitting to, but the he wouldn't fess up. John knew what his son's answer was going to be. Dean was a damn stubborn son of a bitch and the eldest Winchester knew he had no one to blame for that but himself.

"No. I'm good. We're only fifteen minutes out, maybe less. I can handle it." His father would find out about the broken arm soon enough…and he needed the time to mentally pull himself together.

_As expected_, John thought as he wearily closed his eyes in defeat. "Well, get moving then. I'll see you in a few."

Dean hung up and tucked his phone into his pocket. Turning, he opened the car door; it gave a loud, protesting groan. He slid in and, crossing his fingers that the car would start, he put the key into the ignition and turned it. Dean wasn't sure what the demon had done to his Baby, but thankfully, she woke up with a steady purr. He smiled. "Atta girl." Putting the car into drive, Dean pulled back out onto the roadway and headed to Bobby's.


	8. Chapter 8

John was sitting on the front porch steps and Bobby was leaning up against the wall behind him with a beer in his hand when the Impala finally turned into the driveway. The two men had been discussing the possible side-effects of Sam's demonic possession and neither knew what to expect after Dean's recent phone call. They were both worried for the youngest Winchester, but wouldn't admit it out loud.

"Well, there's a sight for sore eyes," Bobby mumbled as he set his near-empty bottle of beer down and picked up another. He followed John down the stairs and over to the car as Dean pulled up in front of them and parked.

It took Dean longer than it should have for him to get out of the car and John saw immediately why that was. The young hunter's left arm hung loosely at his side and his shoulders were tense. He was trying to hide the pain he was in, but wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Dammit, Dean. You should have told me," John said as he approached his son. "How bad?"

"Bad enough," Dean grumbled wearily as he yanked the rear door open and ducked down to take a look at his brother. He wasn't going to let a broken bone take precedence over whatever might be wrong with Sam. "Let's just get Sam taken care of, then we can worry about me."

John eyed Dean a moment longer as his son stood back up and looked at him, almost daring him to say something to the contrary. "Yeah, alright, but I'm not letting it go." He sidled around his elder son and looked in at Sam. The kid was out cold and he was a mess; blood stained the lower half of his face and down his neck. "Anything I should be aware of…broken bones, possible internal damage, concussion?" John glanced back up at Dean.

"Possible concussion. He split the back of his head open on the ground when they were in him; might need stitches. Other than that, I think physically he's okay. He's probably gonna feel like shit when he wakes up though." Dean didn't voice his concerns about his brother's mental state; he knew he didn't have to. From the looks on his father's and Bobby's faces, the two men were just as concerned as he was.

"Alright, I'll get him in the house," John said and then glanced back at Bobby who was standing by the rear fender of the car. "Bobby, if you can help Dean get their things to the house…"

"Whatever help you need," he answered and then looked at Dean. "You got the keys, Dean?"

"Yeah, here." Dean tossed them to the older hunter as he watched his father carefully maneuver Sam out of the car. He stepped back as John pulled his brother out and slipped his arms under Sam's knees and shoulders. The man stood up with a small grunt under the weight.

"You need help?" Dean offered.

"What're you going to do with a broken arm? Thanks, but I got him. Just get your stuff." John adjusted his hold on Sam. He tried to remember the days when his youngest was just a small child and only weighed a fraction of what he did now. Where had the time gone?

Dean closed the car door once John turned and started to make his way up to the house. "This shit sucks," he muttered to himself under his breath as he walked over to the trunk to help Bobby get their bags. It was just another notch on Sam's bedpost for being beaten down, dragged around, and knocked unconscious. Dean had lost count ages ago on how many times they'd been through this; it was always Sam…at least that's what it seemed like.

"You look like you could use a drink, kid," Bobby said before popping the trunk. He handed Dean the bottle he had brought down from the porch.

Dean accepted the bottle from the older hunter and took a long pull from it. "Thanks." Holy water mixed with beer. What else could he expect from the man? He smirked. Bobby… Some would consider him either overly paranoid or super smart. Dean had always thought the latter of the man. He _was _thirsty. Even watered down, it was better than nothing.

Bobby let out the breath he had been holding. It never hurt to make sure of things. "It's good to see you, Dean." He smiled. "Been a while."

"Yeah, you, too, Bobby. Just wish it was under better circumstances though."

"Well, crap happens and then a new day begins. We'll get your brother upright again. Don't you worry, Dean," he said as he hefted two duffels out of the trunk. "Damn. What you got in these things? A whole arsenal?"

"Something like that." Dean grinned. Bobby was crotchety, but he always did have hope. He reached in around the man, retrieved his clothing duffel, and then waited for him to close the trunk.

"As soon as I knew you all were headin' up this way, I got the spare guest rooms set up," Bobby said as they made their way into the house. "I got you set up in your usual room."

They were barely through the door when John appeared at the top of the stairs. "Bobby, I'm gonna need you to take Dean down to the clinic to get that arm taken care of."

"Dad, I'm-"

"No, Dean. I'll take care of your brother for now. You need to look after yourself before you can be of any help here."

"But-," Dean began in protest.

"That's an order, Son." Without another word, John turned and disappeared down the hallway.

"Yes, Sir," Dean said resignedly to the empty landing. _Freakin' demon had to go and break his arm. What the hell?_

Bobby set the two bags he had brought in down next to the foot of the stairs and turned to Dean. "What else were you expectin'? A broken arm ain't gonna fix itself…well, not in a good way anyway. Come on. The sooner we leave, the sooner you can get back to your brother's side. It shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. I'll have Lorna take care of you." Bobby winked, knowing Dean thought the young woman was cute.

Even the hot little brunette couldn't bring Dean's spirits up today. "Yeah, whatever." He tossed his bag onto the pile and followed the older hunter back out the door. Nothing like looking forward to a cast for the next month. He just hoped he wasn't going to need anything more than that.

Dean decided to keep mum on the subject of his leg and ankle. They seemed to be getting better on their own. As he thought about it, Dean made sure he shook the limp out of his stride. No need for Bobby picking up on it or he would be at the clinic all night long.

* * *

Sam slept well into the next evening without stirring. During that time, John, Dean, and Bobby traded off watching over him. To no one's surprise, Dean spent the most time with him though. The two older men gave up arguing with him about it after Dean had a fit and slammed his broken arm down on the kitchen table, gritting his teeth as pain jolted up his arm.

"Jesus Christ, Dean!" his father yelled as he caught an empty beer bottle that had fallen over and was now rolling towards the edge of the table. "Fine. You know what, you go watch your brother, but you make sure you get some rest, too. I'm tired of this arguing. But you're gonna come down here to eat. And don't you tell me no. You need to take a break once in a while."

John knew he could argue with his eldest until he was blue in the face. Dean had gotten maybe three or four hours of sleep last night and that was only because John forced him to. If the man wasn't at Sam's side, he was pacing back and forth through the house, worrying himself to death. If Sam didn't come out of this in one piece, John feared what would happen to Dean. He'd have two broken sons to worry about then.

* * *

About an hour after dinner (which had been macaroni and cheese and meat loaf), Dean sensed someone at the door and looked up, dropping his feet from the side of the bed. It was his father. "Hey."

"How's he doing?" John asked quietly as he pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the small room. He stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at Sam.

Dean shrugged. "The same, I guess."

The elder Winchester watched the slow rise and fall of Sam's chest. "And you?" He glanced over at Dean.

Dean reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck with his right hand; his left was nestled in its sling. How was he doing? Not great, that was for sure. Internally, he was terrified that he'd permanently lost Sam this time. What was left besides the shell of the young man lying there on the bed? All Dean could picture was the scarred battlefield of his brother's mind after those two demons had had their way.

"I've been better, but I guess okay. I'll be a lot better when Sammy starts talking again. Hell, I'll even take the whiny bitching right about now…something." He leaned over and picked up a half bottle of beer from the floor and drained it.

John moved away from the bed and rested a hand on his elder son's shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. "He's tough, Dean. I'm sure he'll pull through." A floorboard creaked as he turned and walked over to sit on the edge of the bureau. John looked down at the worn rug at his feet. Dean wasn't going to like what he had come up to tell him. "Do you think you'll be okay watching him for a while?"

Dean's green eyes cut over to his father and he pressed his lips together into a thin line. He knew it. Actually, he was surprised it took this long. Dean was used to the abrupt comings and goings of the man. But now? _Damn the man._

"Something came up and I have to go. It shouldn't be long; a couple of days most likely."

"You're just gonna leave?" Dean swallowed down the irritation.

"Dean, you're better at this than I am. When Sam wakes up, he'd rather see you than me sitting there. You know that, Son." John stood up from his perch and approached the bed once more. Sam looked so peaceful resting there. "There's a few things I need to pack up and then I have to leave. I'll come up and say goodbye before I head out." And then with nothing further, he left the room.

"Yeah, you do that," Dean mumbled and turned back to concentrate on the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest. Somehow it was soothing to watch the motion. He yawned and rubbed at his tired eyes with thumb and forefinger.

Didn't his father understand that this was why Sam was always so angry at him? Sam _wanted_ the man to be there; he _needed_ his father. Hunting was important; Dean wouldn't deny that, but so was family. Why couldn't John figure that out?

* * *

Sam woke up and everything was pitch black. When he sat up, he flinched as his hand came in contact with something warm and pulsing below him. Where the hell was he?

"Hello?" he called out.

Nothing.

Getting up to his feet and finding that the spongy surface was sturdy enough to walk on, Sam carefully made his way into the darkness.

After what felt like hours of roaming around, arms outstretched in front of him, Sam couldn't find any walls, let alone a door or some other way out. The part that scared him the most was that he couldn't remember how he had gotten here, wherever here was. The last thing he remembered was kissing Jess goodbye at the party.

As he walked, flashes of dying people skirted through his mind, people he didn't recall ever seeing before. Dean's face drifted through his mind's eye as well. Even his father's face had briefly surfaced here and there. Sam had a gut feeling something bad had happened. This whole place felt _off_, not natural.

Suddenly, he heard his brother's voice. It was far away, but he was sure it was Dean. What the hell? His brother wasn't talking to him though. The conversation was garbled and Sam couldn't make out any of the words.

"Dean!" he shouted out into the void.

_Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean…. _the word echoed back at him, sounding farther and farther away with every repetition.

He waited. And then he tried again. "Dean!"

_Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean…_

Nothing.

He walked…and walked…and walked. Finally he gave up and collapsed to the ground (floor?). Sam hadn't heard Dean's voice for a long time and had no idea if he was making things worse by wandering further out into the darkness.

Sam pulled his knees up to his chest and couldn't help the shiver that ran through his body. The absence of anything was starting to play with his mind and it was making him uneasy. His brother was out there somewhere. Dean would come for him. He just _had_ to…

"Dean!" he yelled again in desperation. The word was lost to the vacuum of silence.

* * *

Dean had fallen asleep; his head was tilted, resting on his shoulder, his right arm was hanging over the side of the chair, and his socked feet were kicked up once more on the bed beside his brother's hip.

Sleeping lightly came with the job and he was startled awake when he heard his name, or thought he did. It couldn't have come from anywhere but his brother. He glanced at the clock. It was nearing four in the morning. His father left hours ago and Bobby had hit the sack somewhere around midnight.

Sam was now heading into his second full day of unconsciousness and Dean hadn't slept more than six or seven hours in total. He didn't give a crap about what his dad or Bobby said. He wasn't leaving Sam until his damn over-sized geek of a brother woke up.

"Sam?" He scooted forward on the chair with hope. Sam's breathing had changed. Dean reached up and placed his hand on the sheet covering his brother's tanned skin; his fingers drifted over the small anti-possession charm Sam now wore compliments of Bobby. He could feel Sam's heart rate had picked up. Everything about his brother told Dean that Sam was waking, but he had yet to open his eyes or move.

"Sammy?" Dean watched (_prayed_) for a response. "Sam, c'mon, man. You gotta pull yourself outta there." He bit his lower lip and reached over to push Sam's unruly bangs out of his face. If (_when_) his brother woke up from this, Dean promised he would never tell Sam he'd have to get another haircut again…at least not for a while anyway.

* * *

"Sam?" The word drifted around Sam like a spring breeze, cool and refreshing. "Sammy?" it came again.

Sam lifted his head from his arms which were resting across his knees. "Dean?" It was his brother's voice again. Dean was still out there. And this time he was talking to him.

"Sam, c'mon, man. You gotta pull yourself outta there."

_Pull himself out of where? _Obviously Dean knew where Sam was even if Sam didn't.

The young hunter jumped up to his feet and followed Dean's voice. It seemed so close and yet so far. If Dean was here, Sam would find him; he wouldn't stop until he did.

"Dean!" Sam picked up the pace. _Where are you, big brother? _He broke into a jog, not caring anymore if he ran straight into a wall, or whatever the hell else might jump out at him.

* * *

"Dean."

It was so quiet that Dean didn't know how he had woken up the first time he heard it. Sam was definitely saying his name.

He quickly jumped out of his chair and sat down on the bed next to his brother's still form. "Sam? All you gotta do is open your eyes, dude. Let me see those big puppy eyes. C'mon." Dean palmed the side of Sam's face and smoothed a calloused thumb over his brother's cheek.

* * *

Sam was confused. He heard Dean's words, but he was already awake…wasn't he? He stopped running and just stood there, trying to rack his brain for any memory of what had happened.

Nothing. A big, fat Z.E.R.O.

Had he been in an accident? Was he in a coma? This was all like a bad dream.

Sam yelled out in a fury and spun around. Goddammit! Dean was right there, somewhere close, and Sam couldn't find him.

"Tell me how, Dean," he called out to his brother in frustration. "I don't know how…" Sam sank to his knees in resignation. He tried to fight the tears, but they came anyway.

* * *

A tear slowly trickled down the side Sam's temple and Dean wiped it away. Sam's lips were moving, but all Dean could make out was "…how, Dean?"

His little brother was lost in his own mind. Dean was consoled somewhat by the fact that Sam could hear him and was responding to his words, but how the hell was he going to lead Sam out of there?

"Sam, hang tight. I'm gonna go get Bobby. Don't go anywhere."

Dean shot out of the room and ran down the hall. He barged through Bobby's bedroom door, waking the man out of a sound sleep. Instantly, the barrel of a revolver was aimed directly at Dean.

"Whoa, Bobby." Dean held his hands up. "It's just me. Put that thing away. I need you. It's Sam. He's conscious, but…" Dean didn't have time to explain. He didn't want to lose Sam now that he had him. "Just get your ass outta bed and meet me in there." Dean spun on his heel and ran back to Sam's room.

Bobby showed up two minutes later. He looked at Sam who was still out cold on the bed and then to Dean who was sitting next to him.

"I thought you said he was conscious, or am I missing something here?"

"He is. I mean, he's there, but he can't seem to connect with his body for whatever reason. He doesn't know how to come back, Bobby. He's asking how to get out."

The old hunter walked over to the bed and pulled Dean's vacated chair aside. He did a quick check of Sam's vitals…pulse, temp, pupil dilation. Everything seemed okay. "Damn demons must've stuffed him real far down in there for him to be stuck like that. I've never seen 'em do that before."

"You got some kind of magical shoehorn we can use to help him out?"

Bobby smoothed his hand down over his mouth and rubbed at his beard. He gave some thought to the situation in front of him. After a minute or two, he replied. "I might have something that'll work, but we're gonna have to get it down his throat and he ain't gonna like the taste."

Dean looked down at Sam and then back up at Bobby. "Do it. I'll manage getting it in him. Who gives a shit what it tastes like? He'll deal with it."

"Alright. Just give me a few minutes to put it together." Bobby turned and quickly left the room.

* * *

Sam vaguely made out the familiar voice of Bobby conversing with Dean. When his brother had said he was going to get Bobby, Sam was thoroughly confused. He was in South Dakota? If he got out of here, he was so going to drill his brother for info.

And then he heard Dean talking to him again.

"Sammy, Bobby thinks he can help. You're gonna have to drink something. You think you can do that?"

_Yeah, sure, Dean. Send it on down._ Like Sam could really say yes or no to that. If they thought it could help… "Go for it," he deadpanned.

* * *

Something that sounded a bit sarcastic fell from Sam's lips and Dean smiled. He couldn't make out the mumbled reply, but if Sam was being a bitch about it, Dean knew his brother would pull out of this.

"Alright, rest up. You got a little while before we dump whatever it is Bobby's brewing for you down your throat. I'm sure it'll taste great; he's such a great cook and all." Dean grinned. Some of the crap he'd had to drink in the past was some seriously nasty shit, but it usually did what Bobby said it was going to do. More than once it had saved a Winchester's life.

Dean got off the bed and sat back down in the chair. He adjusted the sheets where they were slipping off his brother. He eyed the smooth skin of Sam's side where the binding link had been. John had noticed it right away when he put Sam in bed the other day. Whatever had happened when that second demon showed up, it erased all signs of the mark when it had vacated the premises.

* * *

Dean heard Bobby coming back up the stairs a few minutes later as promised. He had a mug of some steaming liquid in his hand. As he got closer, Dean wrinkled his nose. "Jesus. What the hell is that?"

"Hopefully, it's what's gonna help your brother find himself. Don't worry about it. Just get it in him. That's your job."

"Yeah, no problem." The younger hunter took the cup from Bobby and set it on the nightstand. "Help me prop him up. This damn cast isn't helping here."

Between the two of them, they got Sam into a sitting position and Dean picked up the cup again. "Dammit," he grumbled after a minute without doing anything.

"What is it now, Dean?" Bobby looked at Dean in exasperation.

"I'm gonna need you to open his mouth so I can pour."

Bobby reached over and took the mug from Dean. "Give that to me. And get your big ass off the bed. You're as useless as tits on a bull right now."

Dean just looked at the man. It hurt being called useless, but he couldn't deny it; Bobby was right. "Yeah, alright," Dean said as he slipped off the bed, giving Bobby room to do what he needed to.

"This is going to be a long month," Bobby muttered to himself as he sat down next to Sam and brought the mug to the man's lips. "Bottoms up, Son."

Dean leaned up against the bureau and watched as Bobby took his time getting the foul smelling drink down Sam's throat. It took a good twenty minutes or so and a few choice curse words were dropped when the man spilled some of it down Sam's neck, but in the end, he got almost all of it down.

Bobby mopped up what didn't make it down Sam's throat and then stood up. "Give it a little while. If it's gonna work, it needs time to get into his system."

* * *

Sam could sense something was going on. A comfortable warmth began to spread through his body and he felt himself drifting off. "Dean…" The word fell softly from his lips as he lay down and fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.

* * *

Sam felt himself waking. He was still lying on a soft, spongy surface, but it felt different now. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open and groaned. His head ached in the worst possible way and his body was a pile of aches and pains.

"Sam?" It was Dean. And he was right there, not somewhere off in the distance. His brother's face came into view, a big smile on it. Dean looked over his shoulder and called out. "Hey, Bobby. I think it worked. He's waking up." The elder Winchester looked back down at Sam. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a bus." Sam moved to sit up, but gave up almost before he started. "What's going on? How'd I get to Bobby's?"

"Q & A session later, little bro. Just rest for now. You want something to drink?" Dean offered up a cup of water.

Sam did have an awful taste in his mouth. "Yeah, I think so." He sipped slowly as Dean held the cup up to his lips, and then pulled away when he'd had enough. "You got any pain killers? I feel like shit, dude. My whole body…and my head. Gawd."

"Yeah. Let me go get you something." Dean got up and went over to his duffel. He rifled through its contents for a minute and then pulled out two unmarked prescription bottles. He pried the caps off and shook a few pills out into his hand. Dean was back at Sam's side a moment later with two white pills and a small blue one. "Take these. They should help." He tucked them into his brother's mouth and gave him some more water to wash them down.

By then, Bobby had showed up at the door. "How is he?"

Dean looked up at the man. "He's hurtin' as expected, but I think he's good." He stood up from crouching down in front of Sam. "Sammy, try to get some shuteye for a while, let those pills kick in and then we'll talk later, okay?" Dean reached down and pulled the comforter up over his brother.

Sam nodded. He was already getting sleepy from whatever Dean had given him. "Thanks, Dean." His eyelids felt heavy and he soon dropped off to sleep.

"What'd you give him?" Bobby asked.

"Ibuprofen for the pain and a little something to help him sleep. He hasn't slept well in days after that damn demon. It ran him ragged." Dean looked up from Sam and had to ask. "What exactly was that that you gave him to drink anyway?"

The old hunter smiled. "My grandma's special tea. The shit always had a kick to it. I always swore that stuff could raise the dead."

Dean lifted an eyebrow and stared at the man. He wasn't sure if Bobby was pulling his leg or not, but he chuckled. "You're shitting me…"

Bobby grinned. "Well, maybe I might have added a few extra special ingredients to the old recipe."


	9. Chapter 9

That evening Dean went out into the yard needing to just breathe in the fresh air; he could only take so much of the stale, dusty interior of Bobby's house after a while. It was good for clearing his head, too. Currently, he was sitting on the hood of an old '86 Chevy Caprice working on his fourth (or was it fifth?) beer; he'd been out there for the last couple of hours and was now watching the sun set behind the piles of junked cars. As far as he knew, Sam was still upstairs, sleeping off the effects of the demon possession.

He was mid-swig when his phone suddenly rang out in the quiet, causing him to jump and spill his beer down his shirt. "Shit! Goddammit!" he muttered as he fumbled his phone from his pocket. He pressed the device up to his ear as he set the bottle down and shook the moisture from his shirt. "Hello?"

"Dean." It was his father. "How are things?" The sounds of the old GMC could be heard in the background; his dad was somewhere out on the road.

"Sam woke up this morning." Dean picked up his beer and drained the remaining contents. (Couldn't let it go to waste; that would just be a crime.) "It was rough going at first," he continued, "but thanks to some 'special tea' of Bobby's, he seemed to snap out of it."

John let out a breath of relief and then, "Bobby's special tea?" he asked. A soft puff of a laugh sounded through the phone.

"Yeah. Who knew, huh?" Dean let himself smile. Bobby sure was a character. "Actually, I was gonna check on Sam in a little while, see if I can wake him up and get him to eat something, even if it's only soup and crackers. I gave him some pain killers earlier because he was complaining about hurtin', which was expected; he's been sleeping ever since."

"But he seems okay?" John had a hard time believing that Sam could pull through something like a double demon possession without some kind of residual side-effects, certainly not this quickly anyway. Either it wasn't as bad as they were led to believe or Sam was just a tough kid; probably more the latter, John thought.

"Well, I haven't really held a conversation with him yet, so it's tough to say for sure. The only thing that stood out as wrong was that he had no idea how he got to Bobby's."

Dean hopped off the car and turned to look towards the house. He let his eyes drift from the second floor window where he knew Sam to be and then took in the structure as a whole. It wasn't much to look at, what with the hub caps hanging on the walls, the peeling paint, and the crooked shutters (maybe one of these days he'd take a break from hunting and help Bobby with some home repair), but it was the closest thing he'd ever had to calling home since that fateful night when he was four years old. He was on the far side of the yard and had a ways to go before he got back to it. And damn, the mosquitoes were coming out in droves; the little vamps were trying to make a meal out of him.

"Short-term memory loss… Yeah, I guess that shouldn't be surprising. I've seen that happen with other post-possession vics I've dealt with. Give him time, Son. Let's see what happens."

"Any idea on when you're coming back?" His father had mentioned nothing of his current whereabouts or what he was up to. Typical.

"It's more driving than anything. Probably late Saturday. Listen, I gotta go. I'll be in touch." And then the line clicked and he was gone.

"Okay, then," Dean mumbled. John wasn't known for giving appropriate goodbyes. He closed his phone with a _snap,_ tucked it back into his pocket, and then leaned down to pick the cooler up off the ground. As he straightened up and turned around to start his journey back through the maze of cars to the house, he slammed directly into a warm, solid body with an "oomph."

"Shit. Sorry, Dean."

It was Sam.

"Sammy?" Dean backed up a step, looking up at his brother. "Jesus, man. You scared the shit outta me. What're you doing out here? You should be in bed."

Sam ran a hand through his unruly hair, sweeping his bangs back from his face. His mouth quirked and then settled as if he was trying to think of something to say. "Bored? I've been up for a while and, well, Bobby's good and all, but I had to get out, you know?"

Dean grinned. Sam sounded good, normal. He received a smile in return once his brother was fairly sure Dean wasn't going to carry on about being out and about. "Yeah, I got you there," he said with a knowing chuckle. "What do you think I'm doing out here…being one with nature and all." He swatted none-so-gently at a mosquito which had the balls to settle in on his neck. "You hungry?"

"Starving," was Sam's quick reply. "How 'bout that diner downtown?"

The fact that Sam wanted to go out surprised Dean. He took a minute to study his brother and then asked, "You feel up to it? We could stay in-"

"Yeah, I'm good. I took another couple of ibuprofen a little while ago." A crease suddenly lined his forehead and he shifted from one foot to the other. "Something tells me we need to talk. I feel like I have this…I don't know…emptiness inside of me, like I'm missing something important. Like something _big _happened that I can't remember. When I asked Bobby about the feeling, he shrugged me off, said he didn't know what I was talking about, and then changed the subject."

Sam watched Dean closely as he talked, looking for signs that his brother knew something. And damn, there it was, that tell-tale twitch of a muscle in his brother's cheek. "Dean, if you know something…" he implored, breaking out what his brother called the puppy dog eyes. (Yeah, Sam knew he was playing dirty to get the answers he was looking for, but sometimes you had to do what you had to do, especially with someone like Dean who could seal himself up like Fort Knox.)

The question lingered heavily in the air, unanswered. _So this was going to be on his shoulders_, Dean thought as he chewed the inside of his cheek and tried to avoid Sam's desperate expression (those damn eyes could make him break and spill everything). He could tell Sam picked up on the fact that he knew something, too. _Kid's too smart for his own friggin' good_.

"Yeah, I suppose there's some things we need to discuss," he conceded. "But first, c'mon, let's get outta here before these little sons of bitches bleed me dry." He smacked at another mosquito on his arm and turned around to go back to the house.

_Good, Dean was going to talk_. Sam quickly fell into step beside his brother; the man was actually outpacing Sam for once, trying to get away from the mosquitoes. "They always did like you more," he said with a smile. Sam didn't react quickly enough when Dean swung around and punched him playfully in the shoulder. "Ow!" He feigned pain and then laughed as he smacked Dean back.

For Dean, there was no better sound in the world than that laugh.

* * *

An hour later found the brothers sitting in the back corner of the only local diner. The place had been around for a while; the faded blue and white vinyl seats had patches on them here and there and the laminate-topped tables were timeworn, but they had good food and that's all that mattered. Bobby had been coming here for years, therefore the Winchesters had followed suit and became regulars when they were in town.

Dean had showered and changed into something a little cleaner than what he'd had on. (A love/hate relationship with Bobby's washer was due in the near future.) Sam was people watching as he sat sprawled out comfortably in the booth across from him – if either of them shifted in the slightest, they knocked knees under the table because the booths here just weren't built to contain someone as gangly as Sam. The kid hadn't asked any questions yet. That was good because Dean still didn't know how he was going to answer them.

The waitress, an older woman who introduced herself as Louise, came over and handed them two menus. (Dean didn't recognize her; she must have started since the last time he was in Sioux Falls.) Her shoulder-length dark hair was salt-and-peppered with age and fine lines shown at the corners of her faded blue eyes and bracketed her red lip-sticked mouth. From her sharp, angular features, Dean guessed that she had been an attractive woman in her younger years. "Coffees?" she asked.

Dean looked across the table to Sam, silently asking his brother if he wanted one. Sam nodded. The elder Winchester looked back up at the woman and grinned. "Sure, Louise." Dean knew they liked it when he used their names. "Two regulars, please. Cream and sugar on the side." Sam may have requested black while on the way to Bobby's the other day, but he wanted to cover all bases just in case the man changed his mind since then.

Louise returned Dean's smile, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. (Even the older ladies weren't immune to Dean's charm.) "Coming right up, hun." She turned and headed back behind the counter to get the coffee pot.

As they were waiting for their food a little while later, Sam watched while Dean built some kind of misshapen tower out of the little jelly packets which normally resided in a small metal rack up against the wall. Sam sipped his coffee as he did; the warmth felt good as it settled in his stomach. He noticed that Dean was quieter than usual, like he was trying to avoid the pending conversation. When the man did talk, it had nothing to do with that big gaping hole in Sam's memory.

Sam was trying to figure things out in his head, but he had nothing. He hadn't talked to Dean in months, since January at least. Hell, he hadn't _seen_ his brother in going on a year. Why, all of a sudden, was he _with _Dean in Sioux Falls? Where was their father? What the _fuck_ had happened? Jesus, and was Jess okay? Did she know where he was? Damn. He should have called her. Sam started drumming his fingers on the table, a nervous habit. Dean glanced at the movement and just lifted an eyebrow, and then he started putting the jelly away when he saw Louise heading to their table with their orders.

Dean got a burger with everything (don't let him fool you, everything except anything to do with vegetables) and fries. Sam got a chicken Caesar salad.

"So, where's Dad?" Sam figured he'd start off with the easier question. But then again, nothing was ever easy when it came to John Winchester.

Dean shrugged as he finished chewing and swallowed. He took a sip of his soda before answering. "Don't know. Says he'll be back the day after tomorrow though." He picked up a pile of ketchup-laden fries and stuffed them into his mouth.

"I thought you two always hunted together these days. How come you're not with him?" Sam was pretty sure he knew the answer to his question, but he wanted to see how Dean would respond. His brother had been stuck babysitting him because of whatever it was that had happened.

Dean, ever the one with perfect manners, answered with his mouth full of half-masticated fries. "How should I know? You know how Dad is. He said he had to go…so he went." He swallowed and took another bite of his burger.

Sam bit into another forkful of salad and chewed. After a few more forced bites, he found that he was picking at his food more than eating it. He finally got the courage up to ask _the _question, but when Sam opened his mouth to ask it, Dean cut him off, almost as if he knew what was coming.

"Look, Sam," Dean said as he shifted back in the seat; he thumbed some ketchup off the corner of his mouth, "I know you have questions. Let's just eat and then, I don't know, we'll go somewhere a little less public and I'll tell you what you want to know." It would also give Dean more time to come up with answers other than the ones he didn't want to give.

Sam rolled his bottom lip in and chewed on it. Finally, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. He could wait a little while longer; it really wouldn't make a difference. He stabbed his fork into his salad and took another bite.

* * *

Dean pulled the Impala off the road and into a field near an old, abandoned barn. He and Sam were familiar with the place; they used to come here as kids when John was off hunting something or another. When they were really young, it was a good place to play cops and robbers or cowboys and indians, and then as they got older, they practiced their sparring and did some target practice there.

Dean turned the engine off, leaving the keys in the ignition. He sat back in the seat and wiped a hand over his face, sighing. He wondered how Sam was going to react when he told him what had happened. Finally, accepting that he was going to have to get this over with, Dean reached over to open the door and got out. He hefted himself up onto the hood and scooted back until he could rest up against the windshield. The heat of the engine radiated through the metal and warmed him. It wasn't cool outside by any stretch, but it felt good.

A moment later, Dean heard the passenger side door creak as it opened and then closed. The car dipped as Sam silently hopped up onto the hood and slid up to sit next to him. His brother had been quiet since they left the diner.

The sky was clear tonight and the stars were twinkling brilliantly above like a million little diamonds. If Dean had thought about it, he would have brought a six-pack along to share. It was a good night for it. But he didn't, so instead, they both lay there staring up at the heavens, saying nothing for a long time.

And then Dean broke the peaceful silence. "You were possessed." Might as well get straight to the point.

Sam heard the words, but it took a minute for his brain to register their meaning. He closed his eyes. In the back of his mind he had known it was something bad. How could it not have been? Possessed… The word made his stomach turn sour and he felt like he was going to be sick.

Dean couldn't figure out how to _not _tell Sam what had happened, so in the end, he opted for the truth…although he'd make sure to omit some of the finer details. "That's why you're wearing that necklace. So don't go taking it off…ever." He blew out a deep breath. "You called last Friday night, said something was after you. From your description of it, Dad and I thought it was just a spirit, something harmless, but when we got there, you were gone. The only reason we were able to track you down was because you turned on your phone's GPS.

"The demon, he left you in control of yourself every now and then from what you told us. Good thing, too, or we would've had one hell of a time finding your ass." There was a pause before he asked, "You really don't remember anything, nothing at all?" Dean turned his eyes from the stars above and looked over at Sam.

"I was hoping I was dreaming, you know, when I was stuck…before I woke up. I saw you and Dad. I saw people _dying_, Dean. Did I do that? Did I kill people?" Sam's voice was starting to crack and he shivered at even the thought of taking someone's life. _Did he slit those people's throats like that? Oh, God… _He refused to look at Dean as tears threatened to spill.

Shit. There it was: the question Dean didn't want to answer. If Dean lied, Sam would see right through it; the kid knew him too well. But he reminded himself, _Sam _didn't kill anyone; it was the damn demon. "No, Sam. You didn't kill anyone." The words were steady and firm.

Dean watched his brother carefully; he could see the slightest tremble in his brother's otherwise still form. Reaching over, he placed a reassuring hand on the younger Winchester's shoulder. "Look at me, Sam." When Sam finally turned his head to him, Dean saw the unshed tears glistening in his brother's eyes. "You didn't, alright. Some bad shit happened, I'll admit that, but you gotta trust me. Nothing that happened was your fault." He stopped there; it was enough. He could see Sam was already starting to freak out. And the more he said, the more things Sam could twist up and figure out how to blame himself for. Dean also didn't want to jar any missing bits of memory loose. He dropped his hand from Sam's shoulder and looked his brother in the eye. "It's over, Sammy. You gotta let it go," he said with a note of finality in his voice. "The demon's dead...dead and gone. He's not gonna hurt you again." And there was no way in hell Dean was mentioning that other demon, the one with the yellow eyes that seemed to _know _Sam.

Sam nodded tightly, but then his eyes fell to Dean's cast and Dean saw the question there.

"Don't worry about it. Just a small fracture…comes with the job. You know that." And then he smiled. "I'd say the demon got the shit end of the deal. – Are we done now, or do you wanna keep diggin'? 'Cause I think you've figured out the most important part: you're alive."

Sam wasn't really listening to him anymore; Dean could tell. He'd lost him somewhere around the point Sam mentioned seeing people dying. His brother's piercing hazel eyes looked up from the cast to Dean again. Suddenly, Dean felt like Sam was attempting to reach deep into his soul, trying to read him like the open book he could be, especially around his brother. The elder Winchester squirmed under the scrutiny and couldn't help but blink and break eye contact first. Dean sat up and scooted down to the nose of the car, tugging his jacket tighter around himself as if he could hide behind the thick cotton fabric. But he could still feel Sam's eyes burning into his back. Dean hated not being able to tell his brother everything he wanted to know, but he couldn't; he couldn't risk losing Sam.

Sam's brow furrowed as Dean moved away from him. His brother was so obviously not telling him everything, probably trying to protect him as usual. Sam knew people had to have died; that's what demons did. He knew that much. And the bastards needed a body to do it from. But Dean was closed off now; he got all he was going to get out of the man. And Sam knew he wouldn't get much more, if anything, out of his father when he got back to Bobby's from wherever he'd gone. (Actually, Sam wasn't so sure he even wanted to see his dad. They hadn't parted on very friendly terms after all. That was the fight to end all fights as far as Sam was concerned.) He let out a resigned sigh, realizing he'd probably learned as much as he was going to about his possession. Maybe he was better off not knowing everything.

"Jess is probably worried sick about me," Sam said more to himself than to Dean.

_Oh, thank God. Sam was dropping the subject. _"Maybe you should give her a call when we get back. It's not that late. I talked to her on the phone when we were there, promised I'd have you call her when we found you."

"Yeah." Christ, Sam had missed a lot. Jess had always teased Sam about his "imaginary big brother" because she'd never seen Dean before. Now she'd actually spoken to him. He sat up and moved down the hood to sit with Dean again. "So…since last Friday, huh? What's today?" And then it hit him. "Fuck, Dean. I've got finals coming up in just a couple weeks."

Only Sam could be so worried about school after being possessed by a demon roughly forty-eight hours ago. "It's Thursday, the sixth. So, you know, Happy belated Birthday. How's it feel to be twenty-one?" Dean glanced at his brother, raising an eyebrow. It took Sam a minute to look over at him.

"Pretty fucking shitty." He grimaced. "I mean, from what I can tell so far, I've had a concussion, been stabbed in the leg _and_ in the side, at least that's what it looks like – thanks for the stitches by the way – not to mention the rainbow of bruises up my side, and, oh, yeah, I've been possessed. So yeah, spectacularly shitty."

"Could've been worse," Dean said, tilting his head as he bit back a smile to Sam's response.

Sam arched his brow and stared at Dean. "You're kidding me?" He allowed a slow grin to spread across his face and then broke out into a laugh and shook his head. It felt good after the seriousness of their current conversation. Dean joined in a second later.

They stayed out there for a while, both deep in their own thoughts. Finally, Dean hopped off the hood to the ground. "C'mon. Let's get back to Bobby's. I'll give you your first legal beer and then you can call Jess."

* * *

Dean slept in his own room that night. Sam had said he was fine and gently closed the bedroom door in Dean's face. The next morning the elder Winchester woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon wafting through the air. _Someone's ambitious this morning_, he thought to himself as he rolled over, tugged at the sheet which had wrapped around him like a constrictor overnight, and dropped his legs over the side of the bed. A low groan escaped as he sat up and stretched the stiffness out of his body. He wiped his hands over his face, day-old stubble chafing at his palms. It took Dean a few minutes to gather himself before he stood up to go downstairs, following the mouth-watering aroma of a homemade breakfast.

Sam was at the table with a half-empty plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him. He was finishing off a glass of orange juice when Dean rounded the corner. Bobby was sitting across from him. They appeared to be deep in conversation about something supernatural from the words "zombie" and "rock salt" Dean had heard as he approached the kitchen. They stopped talking when he entered the room.

"Well, good morning, Sunshine," Bobby looked over and greeted Dean as the young hunter made his way straight to the coffee pot on the counter. "Breakfast is on the stove keepin' warm for you." Dean grumbled something unintelligible back to him in reply. "Need your coffee to get the brain workin', I see," he teased and decided to leave the elder brother alone until he was more awake. Bobby knew from experience that Dean was a bear in the mornings, just like his father.

Dean took a plate down from the cupboard and loaded it with the fluffy, white and yellow scrambled eggs and the deliciously crispy bacon. Once his plate was piled high to his satisfaction, he grabbed another strip and jammed it into his mouth before making his way over to the table to settle in. Bobby and Sam raised eyebrows at the amount of food on Dean's dish. "What?" he asked as he chewed.

"Nothing," was the simultaneous response from both men as they shook their heads and went back to their discussion about whether or not revenants could also be considered zombies or vice versa. They had a lot of things in common, but revenants had some thought processes, whereas zombies had absolutely none to speak of.

Dean listened as he ate. He didn't have much of an opinion on the topic. As far as he was concerned, both creatures needed to be taken out if they were ever up and about, so it didn't much matter if they were one in the same or two completely separate beings. But what the conversation did prove, was that Sam was definitely "all there" and he hadn't forgotten his lore either.

After a while, Sam excused himself, wanting to head up for a shower. He rinsed his dishes off and placed them in the strainer before leaving. "Thanks for breakfast, Bobby," he said as he left the room to go upstairs.

Once Sam was out of earshot, Dean looked over at Bobby. "How is he?"

"He sounds real good, Dean. I think we got lucky on this one, Sam got lucky."

"Has he remembered anything?"

"Nope, don't seem like it anyway. Hasn't asked any questions since yesterday when he got up either. Probably figures he's learned as much as he's gonna." Bobby sat back in his chair and sipped his coffee. "For his sake, I hope the memories don't come back. From what your dad told me, he's better off not knowing everything. Sam's just too innocent; even after all the crap he's been witness to all these years."

"Yeah." Dean looked at the empty stairs and then back at the old hunter. "I know a lot of people don't do too well after possession, they end up in loony bins or wherever, but have any of the ones who've lost their memory ever gotten it back?"

"We haven't kept track of many, because like you said, most end up a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Those who aren't, well, seems like the memories don't ever re-surface. I'm guessin' it's an involuntary survival technique of the brain…a way of protecting itself."

Dean nodded before taking another sip of coffee. He sure hoped those flood gates never opened on Sam. The kid had seemed to pull through the small break the other day, even if just barely. Who knew if he'd get through it again if that wall came down now?

* * *

The brothers and Bobby spent the rest of the day catching up with each other and reliving a few of the old, _good _memories. Some of the more mundane tasks were done (i.e. Dean's long overdue laundry). After lunch, Dean decided to give the Impala a washing and a tune-up and left Sam inside with Bobby in the library. Not too long after, Sam showed up with a couple of beers in hand.

Dean pulled out from under the car when he heard Sam's approach. "Remind me not to get a broken arm next time I go after a demon. It's damn near impossible to change the oil like this. I can hardly get in there to reach the oil filter with this thing on," he complained as he hauled himself up off the ground and accepted the cold bottle from Sam. "Thanks, man." He took a long pull from it and let out a deep, satisfied sigh. "So, you wanna hit up a bar or something later? Shoot some pool, throw some darts…maybe grab a game of poker?" He knew Sam was out of practice on probably all of the above, but it wouldn't hurt to get out for a while. "Dad's supposed to be back tomorrow, so it might be our only chance before we leave on Sunday."

Sam gave the idea some thought and surprised Dean by saying yes. He could use a little fun to take his mind off things. Once he was back at school, Sam knew he was going to be under the gun making up for missing a whole week, and with finals coming up at the end of the month, it was going to be a race against the clock.

Dean grinned. "Alright, then. It's a date. We'll leave around eight." He looked back at the Impala. Its hood was up and the air filter housing was disassembled, waiting for the new filter which was still sitting on the work bench behind him next to several quarts of oil. "I have some more stuff I have to finish up on out here, but I'm not opposed to you hanging out. I could probably use some help, too. Freakin' cast," he mumbled.

Sam just stared at Dean and shook his head. He couldn't help it. "Seriously? You're complaining about a broken arm? Dean, you're lucky that's all that happened. I know you haven't told me everything, but I'm guessing you could have had it a lot worse, like dead." Sam looked on as Dean slid back under the car. The man didn't reply and Sam let it go, not wanting to start a fight. They had so little time together as it was and he didn't want to spend it arguing. "Hey, remember the time that poltergeist threw you out that window when you were what, seventeen?"

"Yeah, yeah. No need to go there." Dean had fractured his right humerus (who the hell came up with these names?) and he certainly hadn't found it funny. He had no mobility of his arm then and was laid up in motel room after motel room for that whole month. Their dad hadn't been happy about it and blamed Dean for not being on top of things. Maybe he hadn't been. He vaguely recalled worrying about a thirteen year old Sammy being pinned to the wall by a rogue table at the time. "Why don't you make yourself useful and install that new air filter for me. That should keep you busy for a while." It was a two minute job, but Dean knew Sam couldn't make heads or tails out of an engine and smirked as he reached up and began to screw the new oil filter into place.

* * *

Eight o'clock finally rolled around and they left for the local watering hole. The bartender knew Dean by name because he usually made a few stops in every time they were in Sioux Falls. They knocked back a few shots of whiskey at the bar before grabbing a couple of beers. It didn't take long to work their way into a game of poker. Sam had apparently picked up some tricks at school because he made off with the pot. When they were done, Dean gave him a congratulatory clap on the back and they bought rounds for everyone to keep the peace.

A couple of hours later, after Dean made sure he was sober enough to drive, they made their way over to the diner from the day before and ordered a couple slices of warm apple pie and two cups of coffee. Dean asked for extra whipped cream on his pie and somehow Sam felt like he ended up wearing more of it than Dean actually ate. Eventually, they packed it in before the other late-night patrons could give them too many irritated glares.

It had been a while since they'd been able to enjoy a nice, relaxing evening without anything hanging over their shoulders. But both knew that once their father got back things would change, that tension as thick as the London fog would arrive on the man's coattails.

* * *

John turned into the driveway to Singer Salvage at exactly seven-thirty the next evening. His body was nearly numb from being at the wheel so much during the last few days and he was bone tired. John knew he had been pushing it by driving so far in such a short period of time and he had just managed to get everything done that he had set out to do. But now that things were taken care of, he felt much better, safer. He had no regrets.

The inevitable tension worked its way into his body, unbidden, when he pulled up in front of the house and saw Sam sitting in a chair on the porch. John could see the same tension in his younger son's features. It was uncanny how much Sam reminded John of himself when he was that age. The kid was determined and focused, always standing his ground, and always needing to know everything. (Unfortunately, he had inherited the gene for Winchester stubbornness, too.) They were good traits, but they were traits that caused a grating friction between father and son more often than not.

Turning off the engine and pulling the keys from the ignition, John took a breath, bracing himself, and then stepped out from his truck. Sam had already gotten up and was standing at the top of the porch stairs. Dean and Bobby were nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Sam," John said with a cautious smile as he rounded the front of the truck. "Good to see you up and about." He gave Sam a visual once-over, head to toe and back, making sure the young man was as okay as Dean had said.

"Yeah, I guess I've had a rough go of it. Dean told me most of what happened, at least the parts he wanted me to know about." Sam came down the steps and approached his father.

There was a slight hesitation in Sam's footsteps and John noticed it at once. He let his duffel slide off his shoulder to the ground. The two men eyed each other for a moment and then John opened his arms, inviting Sam into them. "Come here, Sam." His son stepped into the offered embrace and hugged him tightly. "I've missed you. I know the last time we talked, it wasn't good, but that was then. I'm just… God, I'm just happy you're safe now."

"I know, Dad. I've missed you, too. I'm sorry." Sam felt his eyes water as his dad held him. He missed this closeness. It had been gone since about the time Sam had hit double-digits.

They pulled away from each other and John took Sam's face between his hands so he could look _up _at him (when the hell had that happened?), and then slid them down to rest on the young man's shoulders. "No, Sam. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm proud of you, proud that you stood up for yourself when I was such a hardass." He let go of Sam before the touch got too awkward. "I know we'll probably always have our issues, but just remember, I love you two boys more than anything. You're all I have, my family."

Sam wiped the moisture from his cheeks and nodded. "Love you, too, Dad."

Both men jumped when the screen door to Bobby's house slammed shut. They looked over and saw Dean coming down the stairs, making his way towards them.

Dean had seen and heard most of the exchange between his father and brother, but kept it to himself. That was their personal business, but he was glad they'd gotten more than five words out to each other without throwing any punches. "Hey, Dad. Good to see you. Trip go well?" Dean bent over and picked up John's bag, ready to help his father get settled in.

"I got done what needed to be done," John replied cryptically as usual.

"Well, that's good to hear. One less ugly to ruin someone's day." Dean turned to head back into the house. "There's sandwiches-"

"I didn't go on a hunt." The words stopped Dean in his tracks and he spun around to look at his father with a questioning frown. Sam looked just as confused.

"Oookaaay… Care to share?" Dean asked when the man didn't volunteer anything further.

"I went back to Palo Alto." John looked at Sam and reached into his back pocket to pull out a slip of paper. "I knew you had plans on moving before the fall," he said as he unfolded the paper and handed it to Sam. "I found you a new place and arranged to have your stuff moved. That's your new address. It's not far from your old dorm and it's safe. I put up a few powerful protection wards, set up a couple of permanent defensive spells, and left hex bags in some strategic places." John saw Sam's mouth twitch. "Don't be mad, Son. I had to make sure you're gonna be as safe as I can make you if Dean and I can't be there to help keep an eye on things. And I didn't want to have to do this twice, that's the reason for the new place." He smiled then. "It's big enough for both you and your girlfriend. I've already talked to her. Actually, Jessica helped me get this done. There's a good possibility she'll be moved in by the time you get back there."

"Dad…" Sam was speechless. How had his father known his plans with Jess? But then again, this was John Winchester. The man always seemed to _know _everything. Sam didn't know whether to be angry, happy, shocked, or all of the above.

"Dude, close your mouth before you start catchin' flies," Dean teased.

Sam turned to Dean then. "Did you know about this?"

Dean raised his hands in mock defense and shook his head no. "Dude, don't look at me. I'm innocent on all counts."

"Uh, thanks," was all that Sam could say when he looked back at his dad. "Wow."

"Like I said, I just need to know that you're safe. And that girlfriend of yours, take care of her. She seems real sweet on you." John's smile was genuine. After a moment it faded and he became serious again. His eyes fell to where he knew the anti-possession charm should be resting on Sam's chest. "And Dean's talked to you about that necklace?"

Sam reached up and clasped the amulet through his shirt. "Yeah, I got it. It's not going anywhere. Trust me."

"Good." John nodded and then looked at Dean, brow raised. "Now, you said something about sandwiches? I'm starving." He needed food and a bed.

* * *

It still felt weird hugging his father the next morning when Sam was saying goodbye. After the recent journey to and from Stanford, John opted to stay behind. He needed some downtime. They had all gotten to bed late last night and the man still needed some serious shuteye.

"You take care of yourself, Sam. I'll stop by when I can, see how you're doing."

Sam wasn't sure whether to believe the man's words or not, but for now he'd just go with it. His father _did _look like he was going to miss him, though, which was a first. "Yeah. You, too, Dad." And then he walked over to Bobby and gave the old man a quick hug. "Take it easy, Bobby."

"See ya around, kid. And I don't wanna hear about your ass gettin' into any more trouble, you hear me?" It was said with a smile. "And keep in touch."

"I'll do my best." Sam looked at the two men one last time before heading over to the awaiting Impala.

Dean was already waiting in the car, sunglasses on. "Ready?" he asked as Sam slid in and pulled the door closed behind him.

Sam let out a sigh and then nodded. "Yeah, let's go."

Dean turned the key and the Impala roared to life. He reached over and flipped the radio on and suddenly Metallica was blasting out of the speakers. "Alright then. Let's get rollin'!" he said happily with a wicked grin and punched the gas, laughing when Sam flew back into the seat and gave him bitch face #18.

All was right with the world…for now at least.

**The End**


End file.
